


The Far Reaching Effects of a Family

by kingsqueensroyalty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Adopted Children, All seven years at Hogwarts, Asexual Character, Family, Friendship, Gen, Giving my three fav boys what they deserve, Hogwarts, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Pre-Hogwarts, Sane Tom Riddle, Tom has friends, Tom is taught evil is not the way, Tom's given a family, Young Tom Riddle, but mostly making him overly suspicious, kind of Dumbledore bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsqueensroyalty/pseuds/kingsqueensroyalty
Summary: In 1934, Merlin received a vision from magic. He and Arthur were to raise a child, for Merlin had seen the consequences if they did not. Merlin had to go to Wool’s Orphanage to find him.A story of what could have happened if Tom Riddle had been given a family. A family that could let him reach his potential. A Warlock and The Once and Future King.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 118
Kudos: 451





	1. Wool’s Orphanage, London, 1934.

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be updated once a week until I've posted what I've gotten written, then it'll just be when I have time 
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter

A perfectly normal day, a grey sky and a few too many clouds, turned into something completely extraordinary. 

It all started with a tall, thin, dark-haired man entering the orphanage. The whispers started as soon as he entered. The man was all angles and dressed head to toe in a quality of clothing that the children in the orphanage had never seen outside of picture books. The ones depicting the higher classes and their balls and functions.

He looked out of place against the worn paint and greyscale of the tall, prison-like structure that was the orphanage. His features were half-curled in disgust, but it seemed to Tom that it came from a place of wanting better for the children.

How strange, most people were disgusted to be sullying themselves in such conditions. But not him.

Despite his apparent comfort in below-standard housing, there was something about him that screamed at you to respect him. In all of Tom’s life people like this were a threat, they commanded your respect through fear. 

His most frequent example of this was one of men who ran the orphanage. He ran the orphanage with an iron fist and a heavy belt. Until this strange man entered the orphanage, Tom thought fear was power. 

But seeing this man, who looked as physically imposing as one of the matrons, yet held everyone’s attention undoubtedly - Tom realised what true power was. 

And he wanted it. He wanted it with his very being.

With nothing more than a cursory glance around the room, he had matrons running to attend to whatever he could need. 

“How can we help you, Sir?” Mrs Cole, the most senior matron approached and asked. Her gaze was slightly suspicious yet, as if unconsciously, her body relaxed the closer she got.

The man raised his chin, the lighting flickering across his face, “I am here to adopt a son, Matron. Your help would be appreciated.” He seemed to smirk, as if the thought of him requiring help was amusing.

With a single sentence, the man had sent the entire orphanage into a frenzy. 

The girls of the residence were disappointed at losing their chance to leave. The matrons started scanning every boy in their eyeline as if examining who was worthy of such a parent and every boy seemed to begin the fruitless endeavor of straightening their thrice-hand clothing.

All except Tom. He knew what the matrons thought of him, with their words poisoning the opinion of any potential adopter, he knew not to get his hopes up.

Matron Cole turned to a stick-looking girl, one of Tom’s more vicious tormentors, Amy. “Bring all of the boys here. I expect all of them in the lounge in no more than five minutes.”

As Amy and the rest of the girls trailed out, Mrs Cole scanned Tom and the remaining three boys in the lounge. 

Tom had been reading a book in his chair in the corner of the room, most of the other children ignored him when he was there. Preferring to play games in the opposite corner, as the other three boys had been.

During the five minute countdown the matrons swarmed the man. They asked him questions, served him a particularly watery cup of tea, and the younger ones were quite obviously gazing over his hands looking for a ring. 

There was one, a band of pure gold, looking far too thick and old for someone of the man’s age. Which Tom would estimate in the late twenties to late thirties. 

The appearance of the man held a dichotomy that had him appearing youthful and yet mature, so it provided Tom with a less accurate read than he preferred. 

As the thirteen boys (including Tom), and the further three infants being cradled by newer matrons, were lined up across the room - Mr Emrys, which the matrons’ questioning revealed was his name- surveyed them. 

Mrs Cole was quite obviously steering him to the infants, as they were the most popular amongst people looking to adopt, but Mr Emrys shook his head. “Sorry, Ma’am. Yet something tells me none of these three boys are my child.” 

With a dismissive gesture from Mrs Cole, the three matrons took their charges back to their cots. The soft back-drop of cooing disappearing left the lounge noticeably silent. 

Next she turned him to Dennis, and his ilk of four similar boys who often joined him in chasing Tom around the gardens and destroying his things.

Tom knew it was silly. He knew Mrs Cole would do everything she could to stop him from being adopted, thinking him of the devil as she did, but Tom still tried to stand taller. 

There was something about this Mr Emrys that made something inside of Tom flare up with the need to impress him, to have him recognise Tom as something more than Dennis and his childish jibes.

Whilst Mr Emrys had a smile over his face as he looked over them, his eyes were rather empty and hardened ever so slightly as they passed over Dennis.

He sighed, looking to the matron, “No. I’m sorry, not these either.” It struck Tom that he did seem genuinely sorry that he couldn’t open his home to all of those within the room.

Tom was very aware of the dwindling numbers, only seven remaining aside from himself. Surely the matron would be unable to gloss over him as she had previously, never before had someone asked to see every boy, after all.

Mr Emrys’ eyes seemed drawn to the older boys as if he was expecting to instantly find his son among them. 

There were three boys above the age of thirteen and ranging to seventeen, anyone above that age kicked out to the streets. Normally with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. 

He looked at the face of each boy, the way they held themselves and how they responded to the probing within his gazes. Yet again he lowered his eyes and resignedly shook his head, still he tried to send the boys an encouraging smile on their way out.

Tom looked among the other three boys. He knew of them of course, but none of them were active in attacking him - rather they were nothing more than bystanders. They were content to watch him suffer and blink as their lives slipped away from their control.

Sometimes Tom hated them more than Dennis and Amy, but he saw no reason to consider them a threat. He was better than them, stronger. He was not a bystander and soon he would grow from beneath his attacker’s thumb.

Beneath his heated glare, two more boys were sent back to their rooms. Finally, it was just Tom and another. With such limited pickings, Mrs Cole was unable to keep Mr Emrys’ eyes off of Tom as she previously did. 

As soon as their eyes connected, a warmth burnt inside of Tom’s chest. The likes of which he only felt when he was particularly angry at Amy or Dennis, and caused strange things to happen to them, which usually resulted in him receiving lashings from the belt.

But this time he was not angry, nor was he fearful of a future pain, unknown as the feeling was to Tom at this stage in his life - he was feeling hope.

A look of terror passed the Matron’s face as she realised just who Mr Emrys was standing in front of. Tom supposed she feared that he would send the man running from the place, instead the very opposite happened. 

The presence of the other boy quickly became unimportant as the man moved closer, his eyes seeming far brighter, a lot more knowing - close up. 

“And what are you called?” His smile was more alive than it had been looking at the other children.

That feeling in Tom’s chest burned brighter, “Tom Marvolo Riddle, Sir.” For the first time in his young life, Tom’s voice came out innocently soft without him consciously making it so. 

He made a gesture for the matron to dismiss the other boy, and Tom was very aware of the hatred in the younger boy's gaze as well as her’s. 

“So, Tom.” The man bent his knees, standing level with Tom, unafraid of the dirt from the floors plaguing his expensive suit. “How would you describe yourself?”

The question was unexpected and rather introspective for a seven year old, still even at his age Tom was able to recognise it was a test. Though its exact purpose remained out of his grasp. 

“I like to read, Sir. Beyond the children’s book in the orphanage’s library, limited to those I find myself bored.” Tom hesitated, hardly sure if it was wise to test the man back, but doing so anyway. 

He stated bluntly, “I am not popular with the others here and if you asked the Matron to describe me, you would be told I am devil spawn.” Hands remaining folded in front of him, he took in the outraged gasp of Mrs Cole before she raised her hand to strike him.

Mr Emrys caught her hand and gave her a foul look. 

“Well, Tom,” He stretched out to his full height once again, “I would think you were describing my own childhood. It seems we are more similar than one might think at first glance, hmm?”

Tom could only look curiously at him, bringing himself to give a considering nod. 

“Mrs Cole, what do I have to sign to make Mr Riddle here, my son?” He received a bug eyed stare in response. 

Tom couldn’t stop himself from giving a similar look when Mr Emrys led him outside to a new model Bentley car. 

Mr Emrys caught the expression, “Come, Tom. I’ll explain in the car.”

Once they were both seated and began their journey, Mr Emrys began to speak, “You are an observant boy, Tom. You might’ve noticed I wear a ring on my thumb, instead of the ring finger. This is because my marriage isn’t recognised by England’s laws. Actually, the ceremony we used was actually much, much older.” The end of his sentence was little more than a mutter.

Tom mimicked the man’s relaxed posture, and spoke more openly than he would’ve with any of the workers of the orphanage - if the man didn’t like it, he could always take Tom back. 

He didn’t dwell on it when the thought hurt. 

“You’re right, Mr Emrys. I did notice. Though I don’t see why I need to be debriefed on your wedding ceremony.” Tom wasn’t often so frank, but he wanted to start his relationship with the man without the masks he usually wore.

An amused look crossed the other passenger’s face, “Please, my name’s Merlin. It’s only in an… official capacity I go by Emrys. Though I hope, in time, you’ll consider me as a father.” 

The thought was equally terrifying to Tom as it was amazing. 

“Though you asked about the wedding. See Tom, the family you’re joining isn’t exactly typical. It’s just me and my spouse, and now you.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Tom, quickly darting back to the road.

“I have a husband. His name is Arthur, and if you’ll have us - both of us would love to have you in our family.”

Tom took the news of his adopted father being gay in silence. At the orphanage and the church he was forced to attend, they often condemned gay people to hell and claimed they were of the devil. 

They claimed the same about him. How fitting this all was. 

“So you’re both going to be my father.” He shot a sarcastic grin at Merlin, as he was quickly realising despite his stern dress, he rather liked humour. “I don’t see how that’d get confusing at all.”

This tore a laugh of relief and genuine amusement from Merlin, “Well, Arthur’s rather lost his fondness for propriety - so I think he’ll prefer Dad, though you can ask him when you meet him.”

And so it was for the rest of the journey, Merlin told stories about himself and Arthur and Tom told Merlin what limited stories he had. 

Merlin painted Arthur as equal parts an idiot and the best person in any room. Tom quietly suspected that Arthur would paint the same image of Merlin.

So far the man had proven himself to be intelligent, able to get what he wanted, but also someone who was able to be silly. 

Tom found himself rather liking the mix. It went against everything he had seen about powerful people, who always seemed bland aside from their influence.

Merlin seemed brimming with life and power, giving Tom the impression that the influence he held was just passive overspill. He knew he would have to reevaluate the man once he actively showed his full potential.


	2. The Emrys-Pendragon Home, London, 1934.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know I said weekly updates - but today I had a really great and productive day, so here's a chapter to celebrate!  
> Let me know if there are any mistakes in the comments :D
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter.

The car rolled to a stop outside of a house that was large, not overly so, but impressive. The Tyres created a crunch as they passed over the driveways gravel. More so, the house was old. Not in a weathered way, but in the sense it seemed ancient and awe-inspiring, as anything past a certain age was.

A golden haired man, far broader than Merlin, with golden skin and dressed loosely but in fine materials - as if luxury was his natural state - stood in the doorway of the home. 

Merlin and Arthur’s gazes met over the car and a thousand words seemed to be silently spoken. Eyes flickered and blinked seeming urgent and hurried. Unperturbed, Merlin placed his hand gently on Tom’s shoulder, lightly pushing him forward. 

“Arthur, this is Tom Marvalo Riddle, now an Emrys.” He was right. 

Legally, Tom now held three last names. His own and both of his adoptive fathers, Merlin had explained it as a double-barrel surname in the orphanage - though had not informed Tom of what Arthur’s was yet.

Arthur strode forward, confident, graceful and clasped Tom’s shoulder with a great smile, “Pleasure to meet you, Tom. I suppose I should fully introduce myself, my name is Arthur Pendragon.” 

Physically, Tom kept his face rather neutral but in his head his jaw was dropping. No wonder Arthur hadn’t come to the orphanage, the Pendragon name was famous in London. No one was that rich and remained unknown. 

This was who he was adopted by? Tom supposed it would be interesting to find out how it was the man actually made his money. There were rumours amongst society, trickles of them finding the matrons and through them, Tom.

Facing Arthur and Merlin together, it was hard to remember them apart or the power he thought they held. Next to one another, they were more than noticeable - they were a physical presence that made the burning in his chest that had become a little brighter around Merlin, roar.

Tom had left the orphanage with nothing. There were no possessions there that had ever been truly been his for him to be attached to.

That quickly changed within the walls of the Pendragon-Emrys home. After eating together and acclimatising to the pair a little more, the burn in his chest settling but never dissipating, they showed Tom his new room. 

It was far bigger than anything he had previously experienced. In the orphanage he was considered lucky for not having to share the cupboard of a bedroom with another boy, in comparison, the room was positively extravagant. 

Fit for a king.

The room was filled with dark woods, but the room’s presence was not heavy thanks to a courtyard-facing window, the car they arrived in still visible, that filled most of the furthest wall. There was a double bed with a large chest at the end of it, a wardrobe, a desk, an empty bookshelf and a plush rug. 

Overall, it was luxury incarnate for Tom, but more importantly Arthur and Merlin had left him room to fill it with his own choices. 

He quickly did. 

Within the first week, Tom’s material possessions multiplied by a large degree. He was outfitted with clothing of a similar style to his adoptive parents. They were the most fine things he had ever owned, yet they couldn’t be called formal clothing. 

It seemed Tom would have to become used to the thought of being in the gardens in clothes that was more than the orphanage's monthly budget. 

His wardrobe was not the only space that was filled. Merlin did not let Tom’s mind idle, the opposite was true. Over breakfast Tom was encouraged to ask about subjects that interested him, if Arthur or Merlin did not know (which was rare) then they’d try to find a book for Tom on the subject.

These ventures, plus the assigned reading Merlin set him before he would tutor Tom, filled the lower half of Tom’s bookshelf. 

For much of the beginning of his time in the house, he would rarely see the pair outside of the designated meal times - three meals a day, no books just conversation. It struck Tom as odd how much effort both Merlin and Arthur were putting into being present at meal times for him. 

Now he had access to such things consistently, he saw in the paper how active a role Arthur played in society and to a slightly lesser extent, Merlin. Both men were extremely busy if the results they achieved were any indication, yet they were always present in both mind and body when Tom had a question for them.

Arthur’s schedule seemed to have the most consistency. He was often busy politicking the English elite Monday through Friday, and then to stay in their good graces he appeased them with his presence at their parties and such on a Saturday evening. 

It was due to such a schedule that Tom was subjected to seeing the frown on Arthur’s face at seeing Tom in a book every Saturday morning. Arthur lasted an admirable month, much to the amusement of Merlin and Tom, before he broke and said something. 

He approached Tom, who was reading in an armchair on the lower floor of the library, nearer to the fireplace as Autumn’s presence increased, on such a Saturday. 

Sitting on the chair opposite, shoulders forward, mouth set - Arthur said, “Tom, whilst I encourage your academic progress with Merlin, you need to improve your physical strength as well as your mental. As such, I’ve decided we’ll begin fencing lessons for you every Saturday morning.” 

Tom only raised an eyebrow, knowing by now it was particularly impossible to dissuade Arthur of something once he thought it was a good idea. “I trust Merlin approves? And how quickly do you expect me to progress, once a week will mean slow improvement?”

“I don’t need Merlin’s approval, but if you must know he thinks it’s a great idea. Well great is an exaggeration, he thinks it will turn you into a mindless body after one too many hits on the head. Though he’s only jealous because he’s useless at it.” Arthur leaned back in the chair as he realised he went on a little of a tangent, “As a matter of progress, once you’re at a certain level of proficiency, and if you find you like it, you’ll be able to practice more often on your own.”

And so began the weekly sessions where Tom got to know Arthur, one half of his adopted parents, as an individual. It turned out that Tom was rather good with a sword, though as far as Arthur knew it was natural talent, and not the hours of going over drills before bed Tom committed to daily. 

Tom’s knowledge of sword work quickly increased with the time he put into it, and as it became more natural and routine, he was able to easily slot in the morning tutoring with Merlin. 

Until Tom’s eighth birthday, his days became a blur of much of the same.

Wake to the sun streaming through his window and train with Arthur in the early hours of the morning, before he would wash, dress and meet both adoptive parents for breakfast.   
Then he’d head to the study with Merlin where they’d go over history, mathematics, science, law and politics - as well as any other subject that caught Tom’s interest. They’d all reconvene for Lunch, usually hearing about the business that kept Arthur busy for the morning.

Tom’s afternoons were purely his own, often spent reading or if he had too much energy going through sword drills again. By the time dinner was called his head was normally half-way buried in the pages and it was always a struggle to pull him out. This did not irritate his new parents, rather made them smile with fond-exasperation. 

Throughout dinner where he would hear more stories about Arthur and Merlin, Tom tried and failed to get them to take him to the various jobs and events they frequented. Outside of trips to the tailor or the bookshop, and very rarely the odd lunch out with Merlin is Arthur's meeting overran, Tom had hardly left the grounds. 

Arthur finally relented, allowing Tom to accompany him to a rather relaxed dinner with London’s elite, though the ones closest to Arthur who were unlikely to hold any slight Tom committed accidentally, against him.

The dinner would take place in the gap between Christmas and Tom’s birthday, as despite Tom’s protests otherwise, his adoptive parents would not see December thirty-first as anything other than his birthday. 

Apparently, the fact that the society Arthur was very much a member of, saw it as New Year’s Eve, was completely irrelevant. Tom was equally irritated and inwardly touched by the gesture.

Christmas was to be an important day for the Pendragon-Emrys household as they valued time as a family, and the fact it was Tom’s first Christmas with them, accentuated such values. 

The day was not grand, despite its importance, instead it was a quiet affair that left a very contented feeling in Tom’s chest. 

Both Arthur and Merlin had presented him separate gifts as well as providing him with a pile they gave together. 

Merlin went first, handing over an old looking book, the cover lovingly worn, “It is about the power structures of Medieval courts and political maneuvering of the time. Whilst it is no longer a completely accurate depiction of politics today, I hope you will see and enjoy the parallels.” 

Arthur then passed a smaller version of his own sword, more suited for a body of a nearly-eight year old than the battered practice sword he had been using. “It bears similarities to my own, but I hope you can appreciate the subtle differences.”

Arthur and Merlin had exchanged a look, “Tom, whilst we appreciate you going along with what we have suggested, we want you to know we will accept you even as your interests diverge from our own. We hope the gifts are an adequate symbolisation of us wanting to bridge that gap.”

There was a pile of presents behind the loveseat the pair sat on. All of them for Tom and it took multiple seconds for him to accept that as reality. 

In the orphanage, Tom would maybe receive a set of second hand clothes and his yearly toothbrush. So to receive a pile of presents, even if they would be revealed to be glorified house-warming gifts, he was astoundingly grateful. 

Within the pile, there was a scarf to mimic the one that could often be found wrapped around Merlin’s neck. Tom was secretly going through his wardrobe in his head to find the outfit that would place the most emphasis on his likeness to Merlin. 

From Arthur, he received riding gloves as the man expressed it was a good idea for him to learn to ride a horse and Tom agreed a few weeks prior to Christmas. They were beautiful in their simplicity, but mostly Tom looked forward to having another activity to do with the man.

Tom’s nervousness to hand over presents to the two new father-figures in his life was emphasised by how much he was realising he cared about their opinions of him.

As he was unable to leave the grounds without either Arthur or Merlin knowing, it meant that he had to make his gifts to them. He wanted to surprise them, which meant he couldn’t go to the other for help on the presents.

That left him with the only option being to use his ‘special ability’. He had not had any reason to use it since he left the orphanage, as there was no one tormenting him and no one he needed to force into doing things for him. 

Still, it seemed he retained the ability, even if it required more time and focus than it had when he used the ability frequently. The circumstances had left Tom using his few free hours before bed to make their gifts, it had taken him ten straight days of intense focusing. 

Despite him needing to put more effort in, Tom found himself enjoying using his abilities for a more positive motivation.

In the past Tom had been able to create small things out of virtually nothing, but it seemed slightly out of his grasp, out of practice as he was. So he decided to use something that already existed as a base and instead improve it to make it a worthy gift.

The basis of the presents were flowers from their rather extensive gardens.  
For Merlin, Tom selected his favourite flowers. Antirrhinums. He wove the petals, a blend of reds through oranges, to yellows - into an expanse of material. His indecision between a scarf and a cloak had led to his ability interpreting the gift as a shawl-like shape. 

Following a similar vein of thought, he then selected a mix of purple asters and red roses for Arthur, weaving them into a flower crown. Arthur had shown no favouritism to these plants, but they seemed to fit him. 

Normally Tom would scoff at giving two men, with all the riches to buy what they wanted, a gift made from woven flowers. But there was something about the pair that made a gift over bursting with life, fitting. 

Somehow Tom knew the flowers would not wilt for a long time, if they ever would. And he could only thank his ability for it. He relished the chance he had to create, rather than destroy.

He handed the gifts over, explaining parts of his thought process behind them, omitting any mentions of his ability. He didn’t want to scare off the closest he had to family.

In the midst of his slightly uncharacteristic rambling of an explanation, he missed Arthur and Merlin exchanging significant looks.


	3. A Dinner Party, London, 1934.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the absolutely stunning comments, please keep them coming and I hope you all have a lovely week!
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter

It was time for Tom to attend the dinner party with Arthur. He was nervous.

He had smoothed his clothes over a hundred times, shaped the parting and curl of his hair until he was sure it wouldn’t never lose its shape again. It was unbecoming that he was treading a path in his rug from his pacing but he could not help himself tonight.

It was too important. 

His first formal dinner ever and the stakes were enormously huge. It was with people that mattered, to him only because they mattered to Arthur, but at large they held influence. And no training in the library or prep on who would be there could help.

He needed the experience.

Still he was feeling ill-prepared and the slightest bit terrified.

Normally he wouldn’t be so, but he was deathly aware of how everything he did was a reflection of Arthur. Sure, Tom could lead lost children and the more brainless of the adult population - the people Arthur met with were important, powerful.

And still Arthur led them easily. They respected Arthur and looked to him when needing guidance and Tom supposed experience was the only way he would learn. 

Seeing Arthur’s face, lit by candlelight, eyes passionate as he convinced them to give their hoarded wealth to causes they did not believe in until Arthur arrived - Tom could understand why Arthur was automatically the leader of nearly any room. 

Arthur used masks but not in any way Tom was familiar with. Arthur simply shifted his own emotions to be more appealing to others and got them to join him. He would not fake something he did not actually feel. 

Tom saw the way cutlery was wielded as if a sword, the way words fell as poison and a sentence later an offered antidote, and he realised he wanted to learn more. To properly represent his new parents, he would have to be the best. 

It was the first time in his life that Tom wanted to be better to prove himself to other people, not because they didn’t believe in him, rather to meet their expectations. 

On his eighth birthday, Arthur and Merlin sat him down over a rather extravagant breakfast. He had been allowed to sleep in, skipping over his usual sunrise workout. His sore body was thankful and he enjoyed the rest, even at the expense of the schedule he liked to keep. 

The grander meal was not only present because of him becoming older, though the pair did make a point of wishing him a happy birthday as soon as he was visible through the door frame. 

His eight birthday was the day Merlin and Arthur told him about magic, and how his ‘special ability’ made him a part of a whole entire world. 

Rather Merlin sat there and actually explained, whereas Arthur just looked rather bored sitting beside him in the chair, as if he wanted Merlin to finish explaining and get on with the ‘interesting bit’. 

Tom needed to understand that Merlin was the equivalent of Arthur in the magical world. He used his influence to get people to do things through charities or laws, whatever means necessary.

Merlin explained the basics of wizarding society, speaking more in depth about certain areas than others. He didn’t specify if his level of detail was based on importance or whether or not he favoured them.

Tom supposed he’d find out eventually by experiencing it for himself.

In return Tom told Merlin about talking to snakes and how they spoke to him in the garden. It felt odd, admitting to something he had never told anyone before. Especially something that would have had him exorcised in the orphanage. 

He was relieved when nothing of the sort came from his new father-figures.

Though Arthur did burst in with, “That’s why you spend so much time in the garden! I was wondering why. You hate dirt.” The second part seemed to come out subconsciously as it was said at a much lower volume. 

Tom wondered his thoughts aloud, “Perhaps I could obtain a snake as a familiar. It would be efficient as communication would be no issue. Would that be something you would allow?”

Merlin just grinned and said, “Yes because that is the first time you have asked for something. No subtle hints, no making us offer it on our own after weeks of suggestions. I believe in rewarding progress.”

Tom grinned back, “So in that case, can I get a wand?”

A straight face, “Haha. Don’t push it.”

The entrance to Diagon Alley was through a pub, which was utterly underwhelming, but Tom could not hide his awe as they passed into the Alley. 

The magic had felt so alive. 

It was in every aspect of the street. It was in the buildings, down to each brick and it was in the plants that lined the cobble streets, which too pushed magic into his feet as he walked. 

He felt as if he was floating, magic pressing down on him from all angles and lifting him away.

It was similar to the presence of Arthur and Merlin together, at its most intense, though the feeling was dispersed all over the street so it was less concentrated.

Tom was thankful for that. He could barely take the pressure point in his chest when the two were energised in the presence of one another, a whole street of which and Tom was sure he would’ve collapsed, at the very least.

Turning in a slow circle with his arms spread wide and a smile on his face, under the amused eyes of Arthur and Merlin, Tom thought it brilliant.

They trailed the alley as a trio. Tom inhaled to ask them a million questions before losing his breath at yet another spectacular sight. Soon enough, he ignored the questions bubbling in his mind. Vowing that he would just take it all in, content. 

Questions could come later. Scratch that, would come later. He had a lot of them.

Sooner than he would’ve liked, Merlin had to leave them for business at the wizarding bank. Tom had been informed it was called Gringotts and run by goblins. Privately, he thought wizards made odd financial decisions. 

Merlin slipped away after promising to join them later for lunch, wishing Tom a good time as he left.

Orion Black was the first person outside of his family that Tom met who was magic. Fittingly, he was the first friend Tom made in the magical world.

They met outside the quidditch store. Arthur tried to convince Tom that the sport would be a worthy endeavour, as he pressed the point of keeping up with physical health, when Orion came over and butted in. 

“You’d have to be crazy to hate quidditch. It’s the best!” Tom raised his eyebrow in bemusement of the strange boy who approached him and Arthur, Merlin having business in the bank. 

“And I should trust your assessment because?” But as much as Tom’s words should've been scathing, his tone was amused. There was a sort of charm to the black haired boy, similar to how Arthur got when he was particularly passionate about sword fighting. 

The boy seemed to have caught the tone, sticking out his hand - his body rippling out and seeming to adopt mannerisms too old for his pokey limbs, “Orion Black, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - nice to meet you.”

Tom took the offered hand, Merlin had briefly covered the concept of Noble Houses but not how to appropriately deal with them - something Tom was determined to rectify as soon as they got back home - so he approached with controlled politeness. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle-Emrys, pleasure to meet you too.” He absolutely did not look at Arthur for approval, but he happened to see - out of the corner of his eye - that he was sporting a pleased grin. 

“Emrys? As in Merlin Emrys?” Orion’s eyes seemed to have gotten a little wider, but otherwise his face was impressively blank for a child. The nervous energy surrounding him fizzled out in the form of him rocking on his feet slightly, as if swaying with an unseen breeze.

“Yes. He is my… father of sorts.” Tom was careful to take in the reaction his news created. By his observations, Merlin’s claim to be Arthur’s magical equivalent was not an exaggeration, perhaps an understatement.

Before Orion could ask further questions, or Arthur could steer the conversation back towards quidditch, a stern looking man approached them. Orion straightened up further, until his posture seemed painful to maintain. 

“Father, may I introduce Tom Marvolo Riddle-Emrys?” Orion appropriately gestured, “Emrys, may I introduce my father, Arcturus Black?”

Tom inclined his head as a sign of respect, and lightly breathed feeling Arthur’s hand settle on his shoulder in approval. 

Arthur spoke, “Arcturus, lovely to see you again. I am afraid you have just missed Merlin. He had to head into Gringotts, but he has mentioned looking forward to dining with you later this week to celebrate the New Year.”

Arcturus’ face did not settle into an expression that was happy, but he seemed pleased, nonetheless. “ I too look forward to dining with him, and as it seems our sons are acquainted, I would be happy to make it a family affair and extend the invitation to the family.”

Tom was not displeased at the thought of spending more time with Orion. He had not seemed unbearable thus far, and Tom had been thinking of asking Merlin to teach him the ways of politicking in the wizarding world - this simply moved the deadline forward. 

Decision made, Tom stepped forward. Beaming, first at Arthur then at the two Blacks, he exclaimed, “We would be delighted.”


	4. A Restaurant, East of Diagon Alley, 1934.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer than usual but also a little less edited, so be sure to let me know of any mistakes! Happy Thursday so here's a chapter :D
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter.

Merlin and Arthur took Tom to a wizarding restaurant for a birthday lunch. It was quiet, in a pokey corner that cast the hole-in-the-wall door in shadows - the door was slight and shorter than normal. 

The stones brushed Arthur’s hair flat to his head and required Merlin to duck his head. Tom walked through happily, brushing his fingers along the doorframe as he went and feeling content at the instilled magic that hummed there.

A tall, wide man whose skin was a medium-dark tone approached the small family - hardly reacting to Merlin, other than a nod of his head and a polite greeting, showing his repeated exposure to celebrity.

“Sam, lovely to see you again. I sent a message ahead for a table for three. I trust you have put me in my usual area?” His grin was bright, as if greeting an old friend, as it often was.

“Of course, Merlin. You’re one of my fussiest customers, but you tip well and Arthur’s always a delight to have,” Here Arthur gratefully clapped him on the shoulder, as Sam continued, “Can I ask who this young lad is?”

A quick exchange of looks happened between Merlin and Tom, each gaging the others comfort level. Tom stepped forward, hand out and leading, polite as always, “I am his son, Tom. Pleasure to meet you, may I call you Sam?”

Sam’s resulting chortle filled the cozy entrance, “What a polite boy! Of course you can. Now I’ll let you go on ahead to the table.”

Seated there as a family felt a little different than the dinners at their home. For a start the table was smaller, they were closer together - still it was pleasant, even though the clashing of shins and elbows would be annoying if it was anyone else. 

In between courses and Merlin’s conversation about his happenings at the bank, Arthur shared parts of their day whilst casually refolding the napkin in his lap, “Tom made a friend.”

Tom probably should have felt more offended at the surprise that lit Merlin’s face, but in fairness, the event was unprecedented. Plus, he knew the pair’s jibes were jestful.

Arthur had a larger than normal grin on his face as he shared the Black’s invitation for them to dine together. 

Merlin’s response was composed, measured. Probably very aware that no matter how loyal he thought Sam, there were ways for whispered opinions to be known in the wizarding world.

“Sounds delightful. It will be nice to meet for something more exciting than business, from what I have heard, Orion should lighten up the evening anyhow.”

Tom dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the provided napkin, before folding it again on his lap and clearing his throat. “Speaking of business, I would like to request that you join Arthur in teaching me about such things. Whilst his tutelage has been informative, it seems that you’re better versed on the magical half. Ideally, I would alternate days and study each.”

Both men exchanged glances, slightly bemused. Though Merlin nodded to Tom’s request and acknowledged he’d look at his schedule and that they’d discuss more at home.

Tom wasn’t one to openly express his joy at the news, but if he was smiling more than usual, then the cheesecake that came out shortly after Merlin’s agreement was very good. 

His happy expression was visible around his fork and he had a lightness in his step as they headed out back into the alley. 

He blamed it mostly on the sugar as he pulled lightly at Merlin’s draping sleeves, gesturing with an innocent face to the pet shop on his right. 

It was with a sigh but a fond smile that Merlin followed Tom in, pulling Arthur behind him.

Browsing at the array of animals; toads, bunnies, cats and lots of owls, Tom was drawn towards the darker edges of the shop. Neglected corners that had thinner animals, with scruffy coats and more aggressive hissing when compared to the contented purrs closer to the window.

Twisting and curling over one another, in a space too small, was a pile of coiled snakes. 

They were small, thin and more reminiscent of the pasta Tom had just eaten than the wide, long things that lay in the sun on the banks of the orphanage. 

Still, there was one with large eyes that seemed to be looking at Tom. Head raised and searching, far more interested than the others. 

Making eye contact, Tom saw remnants of himself. Skinny and weak, but with potential to be far greater. More powerful than the others. 

The reflection of his face from the tank's glass was almost serpentine, answering an unspoken question, “I will take this one. It shall be called Nagini.”

Arriving home, the contented hissing of a snake filled Tom’s ears. 

Nagini viewed the vast lands as an expansive hunting ground, positively lush with prey.

“You have provided nicely, young master. Here I shall feast!” Her tongue appeared as she seemed to imagine her future prizes, it tickled Tom’s shoulder as she spoke.

“Very well, Nagini. Refrain from hunting the rabbits too harshly, it would upset Merlin awfully and we would all have to deal with his pouting and dramatics.” He shot the mentioned man a glance, face becoming paler as Merlin returned his stare with a bemused expression. 

“I’m so glad you’re not planning on using your ability to badmouth me.” Lips quirking into a bright grin, Merlin turned back to Arthur’s rambled complaints about the people he had to deal with that week.

Tom barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, Nagini’s amusement vibrating around his neck as she shifted. Hardly an afternoon in and she was already picking favourites.

Ridiculous.

The next day at breakfast, the four inhabitants were quiet, enjoying a spread of toast with Nagini curled contentedly at Tom’s feet. 

Merlin broke the quiet as he settled back in his chair, finished with his marmalade toast. “Tom, whilst we have covered extensive theory since you have been with us, I was wondering what you are already able to do with your magic.”

Focusing and placing his palms flat against the white table covering, Tom levitated their forks off the dining table. They spun, slowly, twirling in place - never deviating from their position or stuttering.

“That's impressive, Tom. Good work. It’s rare for a wizard to be able to do wandless magic, most never learn. But we’ll work on it until you can get a wand when you’re eleven.” Merlin seemed quietly pleased with him.

“Can you do wandless magic?” Tom was curious, though he suspected so.

Merlin levitated the entire table and the three of their chairs, “Yes.” 

Nagini let out a displeased hiss as she was startled by the movement, quickly trailing out of the dining room, most likely to Tom’s room to sulk.

Arthur followed her movement with his eyes and promptly threw a bread roll at Merlin’s head, his aim perfect, “Oi! Some of us prefer to eat on the ground, thank you!”

With a blink, Merlin vanished his chair. Arthur crashed to the floor whilst he lowered the rest of the furniture. 

“I didn’t mean literally, you clotpole!”

“Still my word!” A pout on his face, but the chair reappeared, Arthur comfortably placed on it once more.

That decided it. Tom had been adopted by insane people. Literal children.

Tom shook his head and returned to his toast, still pleasantly warm, thinking maybe this family idea wasn’t so bad.

Later in the study, Merlin and Tom sat opposite one another. 

“Okay, Tom. I know you can levitate things. Are you able to summon things, make them appear out of nowhere?” His hands were folded on the table in front of him, expression bright and curious.

“I can, sometimes. It’s a lot harder than levitating, so I either have to feel something really strongly or focus intensely. It can cause headaches if I try for too long.”

“A wand would help the focusing issues,” Merlin seemed to mutter under his breath, considering.

“For now, we’ll just try and get you summoning one light. The goal is for you to be able to summon it with just a thought, consistently - before we’ll move to something else.”

Tom nodded, and they got started.

An hour or two later, it was an exhausted and panting Tom that collapsed into the chair, the hard back being the only barrier from him becoming a pile of soft limbs. He groaned out, “At least I can summon the light now.” 

With a thought, a little more consciously than would be preferred, but Tom blamed the ache curling into his very being over a lack of ability, a light burst into place. A swirling mass of light blue, looking more alive than and brighter than any of the lights he had seen in the Alley, danced in the air before him. 

It lit Merlin’s face and hair, the magic’s tint making him seem ethereal a little more than human. It contoured the shadows as his expression dropped and eyes hardened. 

Tom felt the light extinguish more than he thought to do it.

Merlin’s frame was rigid, tense and all sharp edges. “Tom, there are some people in the wizarding world who think they are better than others because of the circumstances of their birth, their families.” 

Eyes stared right into his soul and for a split second Tom panicked, thinking Merlin could see it, see him - and thought him not good enough. He tried to shake the thought away. 

Merlin continued, “They will say that because you do not know if your parents were magic that you are less, they will say that because you live with Arthur you are less... Those people are wrong, and quite frankly, they are idiots.”

Tom sat quietly, the silence of a child who had seen the harshness of the world but had hoped it was contained, that somewhere else was better - that they could escape - and found out they were stuck with their share.

The somberness that was Tom trailed the house, aimless, for the rest of the evening. Not even the weight of Nagini across his chest and on his shoulders could ground him. He went to bed that night and the bed sheets wrapped as tightly around him as they always did, but still he felt cold.  
It was not until a crack of oranged light broke the gloomy darkness of his surroundings, his door swinging inwards and Arthur becoming visible. “Can I come in Tom?” 

Tom could only nod, hoping to be seen in the limited brightness.

In a stride, Arthur was at the end of his bed, his palm placed -open- upon the sheets over Tom’s calf, “Merlin told me about the conversation you had today, and I hoped you’d be open to my perspective.”

Usually Tom would be, any insight the man could offer was a gem at moments like these, but he could not bring himself to speak - fearing any answers would bring more loss.

Even so, Arthur spoke, “Some people, Tom, are told they’re incredibly special from birth. Not in the way that is positive to them and their progress, they’re told to put those around them down so they’d have no hope of reaching their level.” 

A smile that was half a grimace came to Arthur’s lips, “I was one of those people. My father was not a nice man, but it was no excuse for the way I behaved. It took Merlin coming into my life and showing what an arrogant clotpole I had been, but don’t ever tell him that.”

The mention of the men’s dynamic brought a weak smile to Tom’s lips, a glimmer flashing in the dark, which seemed to encourage Arthur. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that some of these people just need to see that they’re wrong. I trust Tom, that if anyone could do it, it’d be you. But you don’t have to, Merlin and I will do everything in our power so that you don’t have to face these things alone.” 

With that, Arthur got up and placed a lightest brush of a kiss to Tom’s forehead, sweeping away the hair resting there. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Tom was enveloped in darkness again, but he felt lighter.


	5. The Black’s Ancestral Home, Grimmauld Place, 1934.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter, hope you still enjoy! X
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter.

Stepping out into a room that was elegantly staged, dark colours and vanished woods but lacking the warmth of his own home, Tom was decided.

The floo was never going to be Tom’s preferred method of travel. 

He didn’t come spitting out like Arthur, off balance and covered in soot, displeasure clear on his face. Arthur had to wait for Merlin to banish it and his husband was often more than happy to make him wait.

No, Tom’s exit was graceful as he aimed for most of his movements to be, still the practice grated on him. Stepping into a fireplace was not a refined way to travel, in his opinion.

The dark wooden door at the end of the room, and the tall figure of Arcturus Black loomed, a shadow against the backdrop of the yellowed light of the hallway.

Stepping fully into the room, his face was flat but his eyes were dancing, “Merlin and Arthur, welcome to my home. The family is already in the dining room, if you will follow me.” 

It wasn’t a request and he had already begun heading out of the door. 

Tom glared daggers at his back, slighted at being ignored in the entrance room. He was joined by both Merlin and Arthur in his unpleasant thoughts.

Neither Arthur or Merlin appreciated their son being ignored. A petty part of them vowed to make their displeasure known next time the Black Lord requests their support of his politics. 

Carefully wiping his face of all expression, Tom entered the dining room, attention instantly drawn by Orion shooting up in his chair. 

Being sure his father was otherwise distracted, Orion sent a blinding grin at Tom and gestured to the seat opposite him. 

Sitting after both Arthur and Merlin, Tom did sit in the designated seat. He equally regretted and appreciated the decision throughout the meal. 

Orion made a habit of kicking his shins when he wanted Tom’s attention. This was irritating and if the fool had left a mark on his trousers, Tom would’ve killed him, but he did not and it did make the dragging dinner slightly more amusing.

Arcturus was only interested in his own voice and Merlin’s continued support. Whenever there was an attempt to steer the topic of conversation to something that didn’t resemble torture, by members of either family, Arcturus shut it down.

The Lord’s presence seemed to suffocate his family, and when his attention (usually along with his ire) was focused on them, they all became more subdued. 

Even Orion’s spirit was dampened. 

It was left to Arthur and Merlin to lift the mood, but whilst their attempts were appreciated by the other parties, they were mostly futile.

They tried to speak of Tom’s birthday, and involved him when they spoke of the trip to the Alley, this led to Orion interrupting. 

Expression shocked and slightly furious, he leaned over the table, breaking all the unspoken rules of propriety, “Why didn’t you tell me we met on your birthday?”

Tom raised an eyebrow, head cocked, the adults and Orion’s siblings were quiet as he asked, “Is it important?” 

Seemingly forgetting that his father would be furious at his outburst, Orion continued, trademark cocky grin stretched across his face, “Of course, my presence in your life is the greatest gift of all. You should be glad you got a present, we just met that day.”

Breaking his normally serious facade, Tom spoke back, an answering light in his eyes, “You're insufferable, I wish I could return you to the store.”

This proved too much for Arcturus, he snapped, “Boys, have some sense of decorum! I do not expect the heir of my house to act with such immaturity.” He was glowering as he turned to Merlin, “Do you often allow a member of your house to act with such a lack of tact?”

Before Merlin could speak, Tom cut in, “I would appreciate, Arcturus, if you did not question my head’s policies. An insinuation such as he cannot control his house is one of great disrespect, would you disagree?” 

Tom’s hands were placed plainly on top of the table cloth, his shoulders were relaxed, a perfect smile on his face. Everything was by design, his design, “We are among friends here, are we not?”

He continued, a soft look in his eyes, voice lighter, “I’d soon hope to consider the Black’s family. I… well, I’m sure Merlin may’ve told you I don’t have much experience with that.” 

The Black matriarch's expression softened, she pressed her hands over Tom’s across the table, “Of course, dear. Black’s look after their own.”

Merlin cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself and allowing Tom to slip his hands back into his own lap. “Arcturus, I appreciate the concern, though there is no need to worry. Tom is proving to be a brilliant heir. He is a quick study of the politics of both Arthur and I’s worlds.”

This got Arcturus’ expression to change, shock visible, “He is studying politics already? That is not usually taught until wizards have taken their owls.”

Merlin made a fond, light-hearted shrugging gesture and looked warmly at Tom.

Something warm settled within Tom, but he continued as he planned. Giving a shark-like smile, too many teeth and all the predatory indicators, “Then I have a seven year head start.”

Orion couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

And so that night Tom Marvolo Riddle became the Black family’s best kept secret, partly because of their respect for Merlin and their multitude of debts towards him and partly because they could see that Tom had the potential to be something incredible.

The years passed by similarly. 

Orion integrated into Tom’s life from an annoyance to another component that was no less integral than Nagini or his daily studies. 

His head often appeared in a burst of green flames in the family lounge’s fireplace and he was never particularly perturbed if Tom was not present. Happily calling out a greeting to Arthur and Merlin, far more casually and joyfully than he could get away with in his own family.

Tom’s parental figures were more than to blame for encouraging the scoundrel, consistently inviting him through the fireplace and allowing him to trail through the house and up to Tom’s room. 

Orion always managed to find Nagini in some alcove along the way and wrapped her around him, narrating the manor as if a travel guide in the wild, never mind the fact both of them had been through the halls hundreds of times.

Then they’d come to interrupt Tom’s studies and drag him from his desk and piles of books, undeniably getting him into some form of trouble, Orion managing to convince Arthur that trips to muggle London would help him become a more well rounded member of society.

Tom would never deny that Orion needed education on muggles, but his idea of an educational trip was to a theatre or sweet store. Something equally mind-numbingly useless - albeit, though Tom would never admit it, entertaining.

The years of companionship had an effect on both of them. 

Tom wasn’t able to isolate himself in knowledge and was forced into interactions with Orion’s wizarding peers. Always under the name Riddle, never Emrys, their friendship didn’t free Orion from the promise the Black’s took years ago to protect Tom.

Orion found his own solace in Tom. He was shown something other than the Black family madness, he was shown what family was under Merlin and Arthur. Where family extended past the title cousin and duties and expectations. 

Whilst Orion would never quite have the connection Tom did with Arthur and Merlin, the family of three (and a snake), quickly became four for a multitude of their outings.

Tom Riddle still didn’t have friends, he saw Orion’s peers as nothing more than acquaintances, but he was glad he had a brother. Not that he would say it to the irritating boy’s face, Orion’s ego was awful to stomach now.

Maybe, just maybe, Tom appreciated not being so alone. He had his brother and he had his parents. 

He was unable to say when Merlin changed from being, admittedly a respected, mentor to a father.

Perhaps it was first said in the library, during one of their lessons, lit by fire light and half-yelled during a battle of intellectual wills. Or perhaps it was said in fond-exasperation on one of the family outings, seeing Merlin and Arthur acting no more maturely than Orion, over a warm meal and even warmer feelings of happiness.

Arthur’s transition from Merlin’s husband and a far too-friendly philanthropist to dad was a similar story. It could’ve slipped into a sword training session, laughing as he pushed Arthur’s sweaty form away from him as he approached for a gross hug, always aiming to push Tom’s buttons and get him covered in mud. 

Or maybe it was after a nightmare of the orphanage, storage cupboards, a lack of food, and the taunts of other children ringing in his ears and settling deep into his stomach. Where Nagini would curl around his legs in a puddle of blankets and Arthur would pull him into his chest, Tom’s body collapsing, and smooth his hair and whisper stories of knights who saw horrific things and struggled but got back up to fight.

No matter how it happened, at the age of ten, the impossible happened. 

Tom Marvalo Riddle realised he had a family, a good one. One where he’d never be abandoned or unloved. Whether he was a Pendragon or an Emrys, or both at the same time - his last name didn’t matter.

Tom was home.


	6. The Emrys-Pendragon Home, London, 1937.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly short as we're coming up to what I have written. This Sunday's update should be as usual and then it's whenever a chapter is done. Hope you enjoy :D 
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter.

The Emrys-Pendragon Home, London, 1937.

The day Tom’s Hogwarts letter came had been relatively underwhelming until it arrived. In the build up to his birthday and it being the Christmas season, it wasn’t that the event had been forgotten but there had constantly been other concerns for all members of the family.

This being said, the moment the letter arrived was happy chaos. It all began with Arthur preparing to head out to another boring day of meetings and charming people to open their vast pockets to various charities and causes. 

Just as he shrugged his long coat and scarf on, opening the front door - he was promptly attacked by a diving owl. The owl, which was probably planning on dropping the letter on the front doorstep, had been blocked in their attempts by an intruding human face.

Arthur’s manly scream, or so he insisted, could be heard from all over the house. 

Merlin charged towards the front door, hands ready and all pretenses of fake wands abandoned. Tom equally concerned ran as fast as he could, the most vicious curses he knew flashing behind his eyelids, Nagini slithering behind him. Her quick movements became more whipping back and forth than any smooth movement, in her urgency.

Instead of the evil intruder attacking their beloved family member they expected - they found Arthur standing with a rather dumb expression on his face, angry red claw marks visible and a grey owl, chest puffed, perched on his shoulder.

In his hand was a pristine envelope, at odds with his ruffled presentation. A wry smile, and plainly, “Here,” as he stuck the letter towards Tom.

Inside sat Tom’s letter. Whilst it may not have been an earth-shattering revelation, as it may have been in another life, it was still confirmation that he was a wizard. He had magic. He belonged to a whole entire world. 

Belonging as he did with Merlin, Arthur and Orion - to an entire community felt good, warm.

Tom looked up to see proud smiles on both his father and his dad’s face. The little family moved in close together, a short moment of intimacy that Tom rarely allowed, a group hug. 

Perturbed by the movement, the owl flew off, not waiting for a response - and if owls could, Tom would have sworn it looked disgruntled. 

Moving back into the living room, Arthur’s meetings were dismissed and forgotten, they settled over tea. Tom discussed the merits and wonders of magic as if he was an eight year old boy once again.

The happy mood lasted until late afternoon, until Arthur really did have to get to that function and it was just Tom and Merlin.

His father sat him down, they were in the library, by the fire - their spot, ‘Tom, when you enter Hogwarts, I need you to keep my wandless magic a secret. My abilities will scare people and we really don’t need the attention.”

Tom leaned back into the high-backed chair, a physical reaction to his concern, “What about my wandless magic?”

“You may of course reveal it if you wish, but I would recommend waiting until you’re older. People may shun what they don’t understand.” 

He sighed, “Ultimately, it’s your decision. It is your choice the kind of man you will be, I would not want you to aim to be me - rather your own person… Now come, on. Let’s go to Diagon Alley to get your supplies!” He ended with a grin, but the wariness had not quite left his eyes.

The car was as comfortable as ever on the journey to the Alley, so much so Tom suspected Merlin charmed it - as no other transportation he had been on felt so plush. 

Passing the time by listening to the light chatter of his parents, he occupied himself by looking out the window and tracing the shapes of runes with his eyes. Just as he was tracing sowilo, his eyes snapped onto the building just outside the window. 

It was the orphanage. Tom scowled on instinct, his eyes low as he expected the same haggard, dungeon as before.

Except it wasn’t the orphanage as he knew it.

It was brighter. The bricks scrubbed and the foliage around it controlled. Outside there were children playing on an elaborate play-structure, instead of the worn and chipped bench that was the sole outdoor entertainment during Tom’s residency.

Tom must’ve released some sort of wounded sound at the sight as his father turned to him. However, as Merlin followed Tom’s line of sight, he sighed.

Getting the wrong impression, he continued, “Look Tom, I felt bad that I couldn't take them away from there too, so I gave some money to make things better for the remaining children. I know what Amy and Dennis did, it was wrong, but the rest of the children - the babies were innocent and didn't deserve the conditions they had.”

Tom’s anger drained away, in another world Tom Riddle may have screamed, but they are not special, not like me - they dont deserve it! But this world held Tom Marvolo Emrys-Pendragon. He knew he was special, he didn't need grand gestures to know his worth.

He had a family and that would be better than any improvements to an orphanage.

In Diagon Alley, Orion joined them as he often did, trying to get away from his family as often as possible. 

His grin was huge and had gestures wide as he leaned into Tom’s space,“Can you believe it Tom? Hogwarts!” 

Dryly, Tom responded, expression flat, “Hardly. I’ve only known I was going to go for Three years.” He tried to lean back out of the little bubble Orion had created, but he had no such luck as the boy followed his movements with dancing feet across the alley’s cobble.

Orion scoffed, but it was amused, “Oh come off it, I’ve been raised with the knowledge I’m going to Hogwarts since birth, but it's still special to actually go and do it. Anyways - you’re going to be such a hufflepuff!” 

A glare, others who didn’t know Tom like Orion would’ve been surprised a child could summon one with such hatred. But Orion, who had seen Tom practicing in the mirror during his ‘dark lord’ phase when he was nine, didn’t react.

Tom continued, unphased, used to Orion ignoring his threats, “Take that back or I'll curse you.” 

And Tom would. Probably. One day.

Skipping ahead a step or two, Orion practically sang, “Please, the way you dote on that snake and how you love me to the ends of the earth? That's loyalty.”

Focusing, and using his finger, Tom sent a light stinging hex to the back of Orion’s head, “Love you? I’ve been trying to be rid of you for years, no one will take you - you’re like the fungus I’ll hex you with if you call me a hufflepuff again.”


	7. King’s Cross, London, 1938.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thursday’s chapter should go ahead as planned :D
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter.

At the platform, the family said their goodbyes in a quiet, dark corner so Merlin wouldn’t get recognised. After a short hug, Tom could never stand close contact for too long, and soft words wishing him well. Merlin gave him a mirror and said that Tom could speak to them when he said, ‘Emrys’ whilst holding it. 

On the train, Tom endured more Hufflepuff taunts in the car he shared with Orion and some of Orion’s acquaintances from events. Though Parkinson, Malfoy, Lestrange and one of Orion’s cousins would never join in after Orion hexed them when they last tried.

They were sufficiently cowed once Nagini began hissing from her place in the shadowed area beneath Tom’s bench.

As the sorting progressed and Tom watched the enchanted ceiling, he was awed. Not because he had never seen anything so grand, please, his father would enchant this in his room if he asked - rather he was admiring the innate magic of the castle.

Tom let it mingle with his as he held it in his bones. It provided a warmth to his chest that reminded him of his father. It was not quite the same, not as strong, but it dulled the ache that had come being far from home.

The sorting hat told him he was loyal. He was loyal to Orion as much as he denied it, and to his family. He could have been a Hufflepuff.

The sorting hat also told him he was intelligent. He had a passion for learning, a love for magic. He could have been a Ravenclaw.

The sorting hat said he did not scare easily, but that was not the same as being brave. He could not have been a Gryffindor.

But the one thing the sorting hat could not deny, was that Tom had ambition. His goal was to be the greatest wizard of his age. He wanted this because he knew he could do it, knew his parents knew he could do it. He wanted to make them proud.

He did not want it from a misplaced inferiority complex, not in this world, maybe in the next.

At the opening feast, Tom Marvolo Riddle sat at the Slytherin table. Not as a starving orphan, but as a strong, young wizard who had been trained in the ways of etiquette for years. He had dined with the Blacks at the very height of society, and it showed, made an impression.

The Slytherins around him, so ready to dismiss with a curl of their lips and a spat, “Mudblood”, had been forced to reconsider the lithe boy with the muggle surname. 

Tom was a member of the house and treated as one he would be.

In the common room on his first night, he learnt that he was descended from Slytherin when the others learnt of his ability to speak to Nagini and told him. It happened by the fireplace, as all big announcements seemed to, but this was not the familiar one in his library. This one was large and the flames green, the mantle carrying silver accents. 

At first he was furious at his parents, how could they not tell him? They must have known, but he hid it. He knew all too well how necessary masks were in politics. 

Instead he waited until the boys in his dorm were asleep and he slipped back down into the common room. The flickering torches of emerald flame reflecting off of the angry tears in his eyes he refused to let fall.

He used the mirror. In sharp tones, the words as daggers on his tongue, he made the first demands in a long time to his father.

“How could you not tell me I’m descended from Salazar Slytherin, or even that he was a parseltongue?”

It was late. The hour Tom called at meant there was a haze in Merlin’s eyes, their usual guardedness not yet present. If Tom had been a little more patient, called tomorrow after class, then maybe Merlin might have been able to hold onto his secrets a little longer.

He let out a murmured, “I forgot,” around a yawn. Pausing as he lazily swiped his tongue around his lips, trying to wet them as they smacked together with a dry sound.

Tom’s knuckles went white, his fist tight around the handle of the mirror. “Forgot? You just happened to forget one of the most well known facts about one of the most well known wizards in the last one thousand years?”

Perhaps if the conversation had occurred later in the morning, Merlin may have got defensive, angry even, at the tone Tom was using. 

He was too tired, too busy trying to stifle yawns behind a contrastingly barely clenched fist, that he only pouted. “Tom, I’m sorry, okay? I know your family is important to you, but after nearly two thousand years, wizards blend together, no matter how incredible.”

Tom blinked dumbly, only able to reply in a voice too calm, body gone slack with shock, “What?” 

He could have passed it off as nothing, just a weird way of wording that history is long and complicated and he can get his figures mixed up. A simple, rational explanation.

But Merlin paled. His sentences that followed came out in stutters, quick, light words with no meaning as he wished Tom well and said that they can speak of Salazer more at Christmas. 

Then the mirror cut off. 

Tom was left in pitch-black darkness. A swish of his hand and the silencing ward around his bed fell with hardly a thought, as distracted as he were. 

A steady rhythm of exhales and chests rising and falling filled his ears as he fell back into the stack of pillows behind him. The sheets as soft as they were, seemed unable to blanket and protect him from the swirling confusion muddying his brain. 

‘Salazar’ like he knew him? But what sort of person could forget about him one moment and yet spoke of him as a companion in the next?

Someone who treasured and lost people as quickly as Tom summoned and dispelled thoughts, that is who. How on earth had Merlin become one of those people?

And so, that first night, Tom finally succumbed to sleep just a few precious hours before the sun rose. Thoughts of the future struggle of settling into the castle, making friends, uncovering his ancestry, and figuring out what the hell Merlin meant when he implied he was 2000 years old.

Completely and utterly normal. 

His first lesson and he was partnered with Longbottom in herbology (who claimed the subject was a family speciality), which provided a nice avenue to start his association with the Hufflepuffs but the boy seemed so naive.

He knew he would be faced with more taunts from Orion but the use of befriending out of house, especially the house of the loyal, was too good of a networking opportunity. 

His dad would be proud. Of course, he probably would not approve of Tom exploiting the badger’s loyalty, but he was not planning on abusing their trust. 

Not too terribly anyways. 

So as it was he lent half of his attention to the boy’s rambling and the other half to repotting a magical form of mint that instantly whitened teeth.

Thankfully, Tom’s next class was defense. He enjoyed the subject, far more after his reflexes and fitness had improved because of his training sessions with Arthur.

Unluckily, Orion snagged the spot next to him. Worsening his torture, Tom had decided to take his father’s advice and not show his wandless magic, he could not even throw his usual stinging hex at Orion. 

He had to use the basic one, and with a wand too. Orion still rubbed the back of his head, but his smug grin had not disappeared. 

At dinner, Tom could see that a few of the older years did not like the fact that the heir of the great house of Black was sullying himself with a lowly muggle-born (or so they thought anyways). 

It was for that reason the hair on the back of his neck was raised straight as he saw the empty spot in the common room where Orion had been sitting before Tom had left to retrieve a book from their dorm. 

Face tight and eyes angry slits, his eyes trailed across the rest of the first years and their flickering eyes to the corner where the owl students stood in a huddle around a target. 

Around Orion.

His fury filled the room, becoming a physical force in the roar of the fire and the hisses that were leaving his mouth in spittles. 

A path cleared for him. He was eleven and small at that, it should not have happened but in the moment he seemed unstoppable. 

An aura around him seemed darker, crueler than that of an eleven year old. It hung heavy around him before it spread as a suffocating cloud around the throats of the three boys taunting a cut Orion at their feet.

They turned as one, eyes wide and frightened, but disbelieving.

The most left of them found it within himself to speak, “You’re a first year, you don’t know any spells.”

Tom’s eyes flashed the way he practiced, and for the first time, from his place on the floor, Orion thought it looked real. Terrifying. 

“For what I am going to do to you, I will not need spells.” For as long as he could remember, Tom’s powers had worked on will alone. They would again.

Now, he willed for the ones who hurt Orion to hurt back, tenfold. He did not need to know their names, their intentions - he only wanted them to know pain.

Without lifting a finger or blinking an eye, a first year brought three fifth years to their knees, screaming. 

Tom had forcefully carved his place in Slytherin, and Orion was in the untouchable position, next to him.


	8. Hogwarts, Scotland, 1938.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of spooky season :D
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter.

From that day, those who were seen with gifts from Tom were protected. As with his parents, they were garments or items made entirely from Tom’s magic - they were as potent as a brand. 

They had the advantage of being gorgeous and coming at no cost to the wearer, if you had Tom’s loyalty, you had it. 

The first to wear such a gift was Orion. As it always was going to be. He was the first friend, the first wearer, the only brother. 

A jeweled flower. For formal events it was a broach on the breast of his robes, on lazy days around the castle it was a clip in his hair that had become just an inch or two too long. A common sight Tom and Orion made in the library, one with their hair visible over the rim of a book and the other with their hair scooped up in a twist, flower always visible.

Soon enough Charles Longbottom got a gift too. It was after he had shown Tom the kitchens, calling it an adventure to find snacks that reminded them of home, but to Tom it was an olive branch of friendship. One which, from that night, he intended to grow into a tall tree. 

Charlie, as Orion insisted on calling him (to pair with Tommie, of course!) was given a pair of gloves for herbology and gardening. Imbued with all the safety charms and intentions Tom could manage, they never wore down or let anything harmful breach his skin. They weren’t always worn, but they were always present on the boy.

Present when he clapped Tom on the shoulder and Tom realised he had another friend. 

He sat with the pair on the train, headed home for Christmas with Nagini curled into a ball in his lap. She was heavier and longer than she had been on the train to Hogwarts.

The hours were long despite the boys best efforts to distract him. A rhythm of his hand smoothing up and down the scales of Nagini created a rhythm that kept an uncomfortably accurate record of the seconds ticking by. Tom was too curious, too caught up in the secrets that he hoped his parents would reveal to him over break. 

“Charlie, seriously? You can’t ask for only plants for Christmas. It’s got to be something cool… like a dragon! Your parents would definitely get you a dragon if you asked, it’s those adorable blue eyes.”

Charles, Tom never used the moniker unless he was teasing, just snorted from where he was reading his book. 

The pages worn and well thumbed through, Charles had it on him constantly. So much so, Tom was tempted to name the bundle of paper the fourth member of their group.

He turned away from where Orion was spread out like a starfish, all angles, across the train bench - slouched in a way that must’ve been uncomfortable. He looked out of the window, the scottish landscape flying by and in flashes of green, white and grey.

“Come on, Tom. You’ll break eventually, what did you put on your Christmas list?” Orion’s whiny tone carried across the carriage, teasing as always.

Tom scoffed. Please, as if he would make something as juvenile as a Christmas list. 

Orion may be physically eleven, looked older even, but he had the mind and maturity of a toddler.

Secretly, all Tom desperately wanted for Christmas was to know the truth. It was a need burning so brightly and deeply within him that it hurt. He had tried to needle it out of his parents through the short mirror calls they shared in between their busy schedules, but they were always alert for it. 

“If you must know, Orion. I have no need for a Christmas list. You’ve met my father, he is content to spoil the family year round. Just the other day he mentioned he bought…” Tom trailed off, an idea forming. 

Yes, Charles was his friend. Grudgingly admitted or not. It was time to test if he could be let into Tom’s life, his real life, not the guise of a muggleborn all too eager to prove himself he played around Hogwarts.

“...Dad that car he wanted. Sure, the Bentley was outdated by muggle standards but Father should have just charmed it. He always gives in too easily to Dad.” 

There. A light appeared in Charles’ eye and his neck cricked slightly, showing he had heard and understood. 

But that was all, there was no exclamation of disgust, just a calm turning of a page. 

It absolutely was not relief that welled in Tom’s chest. 

Orion sensed the exchange that had just happened, but he most likely didn’t care. Orion had unfortunately come to see Arthur as an older best friend who was just below Tom on the ranking of best friend, and on days where Tom was grumpy, then Arthur took top spot.

“You’re Dad’s awesome! Charlie, honestly. Arthur is the best. He definitely deserves a new car, Tom. Not charmed.” He toppled off the thin train bench in the excitement of his exclamation. 

Tom didn’t understand why Arthur put up with Orion. Tom barely could and they were the same age.

Except when he asked, Arthur only got a vacant look in his eyes and said that Orion reminded him of a similarly mischievous friend, one who was long gone.

Departing the train and collecting his bags with the pair, Nagini once again wrapped around his shoulders Tom said his prepared goodbyes before scanning the crowd, looking for his parents.

It seemed Orion spotted them first as he began to wave madly at a dark corner, well accustomed and no longer bothered by Merlin and Arthur’s hiding when in public.

Thankfully, Charles was not able to follow his eyeline in time and instead looked around confused before shaking his head and sending a grinning goodbye as he headed to his family. 

Tom has his face coddled and hair patted before Orion moves onto his goodbyes to Nagini, cupping her head and speaking in a high pitched tone, like one would a puppy. Normally, Nagini would never stand for such babying, but much like with Tom, the fact that it was Orion just made the implausible okay. 

Tom carefully did not run towards his parents on the platform. Head low and shoulders trained forward, Nagini slipped off and darted towards Merlin as they got closer.

Reaching Arthur first, it was only his father who squeezed the other during their reuniting hug. The tightness of the grip had no effect, and Tom would never have been so silly to believe otherwise. Even still, he felt his arms locking and head dipping into the crook of his Dad’s shoulder.

With Merlin the familial embrace is a little more refined, but it’s when Tom’s magic is free to lash out and wrap around his father that Tom feels home again. The emptiness sated and away, instead in that little hollow of his chest - he feels happy.

They returned home as a huddle of contentment. The ivy wrapped around the house had been trimmed since Tom was last home and the garden looked a little more kept, though the dark shadowed his vision and his ability to completely make out the footpath. 

In the dining room, the food was out and ready, the soup as warm as the atmosphere of being together again. The room had not changed much except for a different painting on the wall opposite him. Now a landscape of a large cliff stretched out, looking imposing from the painter’s perspective from within the valley of green below.

The layout of the table was the most notable change. Before, Tom was always sat opposite Merlin, with Arthur at the tables head to his left. The pair were facing him, an image of quiet revolution sat in his eyeline, together.

Somewhat lonely, as Nagini had not deigned to accompany them to dinner, Tom waited for them to begin, resisting the urge to pick at a bread roll as he did so.

It was Arthur who started, eyes guarded and hand reaching out to grab around Merlin’s forearm, “We are the Merlin and Arthur… from the legends, I suppose. The sorcerer and the king with the round table of knights, a castle and a dragon - from Camelot.” 

Tom reflected that Arthur had never been the most eloquent with his feelings. Now should be no different. Taking in his dad’s awkward nature gave him something more comprehensible to do, because it was quite Earth shattering to discover your parents were mythical figures.

A part of Tom, that was far from his body, but still aware - struggled with the fact he had no problem believing them. There had always been something more about them. He could make the connection now, a couple thousand years of experience would do that to a person. 

Arthur captivated him with tales of the round table. There were stories of war, of betrayal, of friendship and love, though most importantly; magic. He gave the figures that had been bedtime stories names, personalities and flaws. 

He spoke of how the knights of the round table came into being. An abandoned strong hold with men, friends, who were weary but too loyal to give into the odds that were stacked against them. Arthur told Tom of men who would ride into the mouth of hell just at the chance he could rule again - Merlin at his side then and still, pride lighting his eyes and the lines of his face.

The clasp of a golden dragon. It was how he marked his knights. The men who would fight for him, and the men who were the reason he would fight. 

Tom found himself thinking of his friends. Orion. Charlie. Would he be able to declare the same of them? He thought he could, knew somewhere in his body, between his heart and mind - that he could. 

There was a sort of possessive contentment in Tom that he had given them something to mark his own loyalty to them. It was not quite a golden dragon clasp, but it would have been just slightly embarrassing to copy his own dad’s legends. 

As Arthur finished, his tale of Camelot told and with interjections by Merlin. The chandelier above the table, a circlet of charmed candles and jewels, danced. Shards of light filtered through the air, patterns depicted onto both his parents faces. For a moment, Tom didn’t see the light of the chandelier.

He saw the light of the sun glinting off the blade of a sword, but it wasn’t in their back garden. It was in front of a large castle with light stone, metal sending beams of light - the armour, chainmail and maces just as captivating as the jewels. 

The vision faded from in front of his eyes and mind as Merlin began to speak, voice deep as if speaking his secrets into existence - which, Tom supposed, he was.

“Regarding Salazer, I knew the founders briefly. Magic of that scale was always bound to attract my attention. But despite popular belief, I did not actually help build the castle. Castles always were more Arthur’s thing.” Here Arthur snorted, and something inside Tom loosened at them becoming human again. 

The atmosphere lightened, “I simply got to know the founders and their intentions. In those days, a lot of people wanted my opinion on a lot of things. It was awful, honestly.” Here Arthur chipped in, again expressing the woes of royalty. 

The drama queen, well... king. 

His parents were not the men he thought they were. They were more, and their family was still the same.

Holiday events flew by unchanged from last year, but perhaps there were a few more references to medieval times that Tom was in on. He was sent back to the station with love and a settled feeling in his stomach. None of the uncertainty of the journey on the way here.

Tom returned to his friends and to the castle, more resolved than ever to do his parents proud.


	9. The Courtyard, Hogwarts, 1940.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of a new character, I love her! I hope you enjoy this chapter :D
> 
> I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter.

Tom’s second year flew by as a breeze in Spring. The castle’s bricks shone in the sun that always seemed a little brighter after a stretch of Scottish weather, the clouds dark and heavy giving way to pleasant days on the bank of the lake. 

It was on one such day, a morning of too dry and long classes, where Tom was feeling the effects of going without his daily physical routines from back home. Whilst even Tom would concede that Hogwarts was no place for swordfighting, the store of energy he usually spent exercising just wouldn’t dissipate the same way when he was flying on a broomstick. 

So it began, as the Spring transformed into Summer with heavier beams of sun and the night’s darkness holding off a little longer, students were happy to spend more and more time outside on the castle’s grounds. But there was only so much lounging in the grass one could do, even entertained by magic as they were. 

A fortunate mix of his restlessness, the clawing of muggle-born students to have an escape from the muggle war, and Orion introducing Charles to ‘the really extraordinary muggle sport’, he picked up from Arthur - meant Tom wound up introducing football to Hogwarts. 

Tom could not particularly see the appeal of kicking a ball around for points, however, it was needed exercise and the access it gave him to students in portions of Hogwarts (otherwise closed off to him), was too good to ignore.

They were only mock-games really. Nothing so serious as to have rankings or the ability to win cup-points, still muggle-borns, half-bloods and the more open-minded purebloods alike seemed to love it. 

Whether it was due to the stretch of Tom’s influence, meaning trails of first and second years poured out onto the random stretch of grass they had coined the football pitch, or it was due to the desperation of muggle-borns to have something to cling to home that wasn’t covered in rubble or the pain of the blitz - it did not truly matter. 

Tom led practices with Orion and Charlie behind him, looking more like his Dad for it. A Pendragon training a field of men, whether that was in football or how to be knights, could not look so different after all. 

It seemed all it took to further Tom’s inter-house connections was to make it about sports. The Gryffindors flocked to him and the Hufflepuffs loved the opportunity to play another team sport. Not many of his fellow Slytherin’s joined him, but that was okay, his influence over them was written in stone. 

The Ravenclaws scoffed at the idea, but never at him. They would confide to him, quietly, in the library after dinner, that they ‘didn’t understand why you would get into anything so brash, Tom’. 

He would only give a cheeky smile, slathered onto the lower-half of his face, a wise and knowing look entering his eyes. He would disclose in quiet tones, as one had to in such a monitored place, that he simply looked after his health and the game could be seen as research on the effects of extra exercise on the student body. 

It would hardly make good reasoning, if they truly bothered to analyse what he said, but as to most in the current age - it mattered not, what was said, rather who said it. Due to this very philosophy, the ravens were forced into accepting Tom stealing one of their own from their nest. Tom said she was one of his, and so to them, she was. 

Condemned for not being the daughter people thought she perhaps should have been, for not being the studious, shadow the house expected - Merida Lovegood came to Tom as spitting, ball of rage and indignation. 

A pureblood heir. A girl. A ravenclaw. All coming with their own restrictions and expectations. 

Merida Lovegood wanted to play football. Not revolutionary as such, not when so plainly put - but such things weren’t accepted in their civilised society. To the Hufflepuffs, the Gryffindors, maybe… but since when were they the image of sophistication?

Even so, whilst the upper years and the teachers may have muttered under their breath, turned their noses up at the sight of Merida’s white hair, streaked with mud and carrying blades of grass - it made no difference to the first three years of the Hogwarts population. 

They had gotten used to the sight. 

Merida, long and flowing hair, now tightly wrapped into plaits that formed a crown around her head. She hung off of Charles, quickly dubbed only Charlie by her lips. The quips fired rapidly between her and Orion, equally paced and always trying to one up the other. 

Tom thought he genuinely liked her, unlike Parkinson in his year, she did not blush in his presence. There was no rouge staining the peach of her cheeks as she smiled at him, seated across the blanket they sat in a square around, the lapping of the lake’s gentle movements brushing against pebbled shores a quiet backdrop. 

Instead the rouge rose as soon as her sights moved from Tom and to Charlie, a small space away from her, to her left. Her eyes flickered back and forth from the face she so loved to stare at to the book, always vacant in Charles’ lap, seemingly envious of such a thing that could capture his attention so utterly.   
The scene was a common one. After sessions of quick passes back and forth, spells to randomly assign teams and just over an hour of exertion that left Tom’s chest rising and falling as quickly as it did when he found that spell, one that had fascinated him for months and had led to night after night in the library - he sat gently on the grass, feeling alive. 

Orion would be sprawled across the blanket, taking the most space as he never failed to inelegantly flop down onto the ground. He would wave away passing students who had partaken in that day’s session, and others that who just knew of them, as they greeted them as they began their trek back to the castle. 

Tom would eye serenely at the sight of Nagini’s wriggling mass, extended up in the air, balanced on the wiry arms of Merida, the girl pointing to shapes in the clouds for the snake to observe. The two had become fast friends, Nagini hissing to Tom quickly after meeting the girl that she was a good one. 

Despite the language barrier, Merida would regale Nagini with stories, content to be listened to if not understood. Nagini could not make out everything she said, but she was getting better, and would often hiss for Tom to pass comments along if Merida’s tale was particularly riveting. 

So it only seemed fair that when Merida was finally given a gift, that Nagini was there. Merida was as much her friend as Tom’s. It was a necklace, bronze to remember her house, but the charm was a striking python with silver studs. 

It glistened in the sun, in a space of time where Orion and Charles had left them to get something or other, a short but sweet moment - from which, Merida would always know, she was an honorary snake and she had Tom’s loyalty.


	10. The Potion’s Lab, Hogwarts, 1941.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I say this is unedited- this is absolutely, has not been touched with a ten foot pole - unedited. 
> 
> Firstly, I want to apologise for the break in updates - turns out writing on a time frame really does not work for me and it did not help that my motivation for this story took an absolute nose dive. HOWEVER, I come with an update as I have scrounged up some writing power (mostly as procrastination for the pile of work I have not completed, but I digress).
> 
> Please, please, please leave a comment as my motivation for writing comes almost entirely from validation - what can I say? I'm the worst mix of a narcissist and insecure. Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter which is tooth-achingly fluffy.

The Potion’s Lab, Hogwarts, 1941. 

By third-year, Tom had his head of house positively eating out of the palm of his hand. Thanks to his parents' generous allowance, though nothing to what Abraxas received, Tom had no problem purchasing the crystalized pineapple his potions teacher was so fond of. 

He had to be frugal with the rest of his purchases for the month, but Tom was nothing if not resourceful. There was the added bonus of people falling over themselves to give him anything he could desire if he just threw them a smile. 

It was the source of one of the group’s greatest amusements. Charles did love to make Tom painfully knowledgeable of the first years that followed him around like love-struck ducklings when they thought he wouldn’t be aware of them.

Still, he could not criticise the fact too much. The advantages it gave him were far too great. By attending a few of Slughorn’s little soirees, the man was more than willing to give Tom and his friends permission to have an extended Hogsmeade trip. 

‘You see, Professor - it is part of a surprise for Lovegood. Charlie has been planning an outing for her for weeks, so the extra time would mean so much to him, to us.” And just like that, Tom was allowed out until the evening dinner. 

Beginning his day by flooing from Hogwarts to Diagon Alley and heading to Sam’s restaurant, was all part of his plan to organise a little surprise for his parents. Headed down the cobbled streets, head high as it always was, but not aiming to draw attention to himself, he saw Sam’s little girl through the window, her dark skin, darker than Sam’s, and her hair in tight ringlets crowning her head.

The top of which wasn’t visible once she disappeared behind the host’s podium, not yet tall enough to peak over the top. He swiped a dying flower from the window box, a twist of magic and intent, he had the perfect pink flower to tuck behind the little girl’s ear. 

Sam was happy to see him, as always, having been a recurring customer over the years with both friends and his parents. The man and his daughter were not quite family, but they were the closest Tom had outside of his parents and his friends.

“Hey, Sam!” He called as he walked through the arch, receiving a running toddler and holding her at arm's length, but smiling kindly and tucking his present into her hair, nonetheless. 

“Can I get the cake my parents always order?” Through the downturn of his lips and the flare in his eyes, Tom read the panicked confusion across the man’s face. He chuckled, “It's not anyone's birthday, no. It's my adoption day. You know how sappy they are, Sam.”

Sam’s relief was evident as the tension fell off his frame, becoming the soft, jovial man Tom was familiar with. He rubbed the top of his daughter’s head with his comparatively large hand, guiding her and Tom to the cake counter at the back. 

Pulling Merlin and Arthur’s favoured cake from chilled glass, Sam packed it into a to-go box and handed it over - waving away Tom’s attempts to pay. “This one’s on me - happy adoption day, Tom!” 

A rare grin on his face, brought by the combination of receiving free things and the quickly arriving chance to see his parents again, Tom ducked through the private floo in the office after quickly saying his thanks.

The fireplace flared green and Tom’s voice echoed into being, as he stepped through into his home, “I’ve got you a present!” There was a white box, large and looking larger in Tom’s hands, a red ribbon tied into a bow on the top. 

He could hear the pattering of feet in the hall, the oak door of the receiving room swinging open and his Dad bursting into the room; soft clothes, messy hair and a softer look on his face. 

“Tom, it’s great to see you!” His smile fell a little at the edges, “Merlin’s out today. Work stuff with the goblins, but I know he would’ve loved to see you.” He crossed the room to Tom, wrapping him in a hug and ruffling his perpetually neat hair. 

Dragging his son out of the receiving room and ignoring his futile attempts to fix the man-handling of his hair, Arthur smiled large and bright, down at Tom, “Come on. I want to see what’s in that box.”

On the sofa, under the window looking out to the driveway and the fountain housed there, Arthur opened the box. Smile widening and becoming more than a little goofy and childish as he saw the cake. They ate out of the box, sterling silver forks (that Tom was forced to summon from the kitchen because ‘not everyone is blessed enough to get to be lazy, some of us have to walk!’) clinking together and contrasting the casual intimacy of a family.

Enjoying their time together, they were unaware of the clock chiming, chirping the announcement of new hours. This time, however, the sound was joined by a jostling at the front door. Merlin was home. 

Tom was overjoyed at being able to see his father, but his face was struck white as he realised that meant it was 5 o’clock. He only had half an hour to get back to the castle. 

He shot up, and it was with a hug and receiving a hazard kiss to his temple from his father in the hallway, he called his goodbyes as he dashed back through the fireplace. This time straight to the floo in Hogsmeade. 

He left to his father still staring confusedly at the remnants of the scene Tom and Arthur had made, box half folded and discarded to the side table, chocolate lining Arthur’s lips and pillows with the dents of bodies in them.

Tom threw the floo powder and muttered hurried words under his breath, the light and merriment of the three broomsticks greeting him as he stepped through.

Orion was sat on the table closest to the floo, nursing a half-drunk bottle of butterbeer, Charles and Lovegood opposite him, hands held together in the space between them.

“Honestly, Tom. Do you want to get caught?” Orion rolled his eyes as soon as he saw him. 

In a public environment as he was, Tom ensured he was perfectly composed and presentable, with a breath it was as if the stress fell off him. His hair settled and his robes smoothed. His lips quirked, “Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation to head back? We are going to be late if you continue at this pace. Orion, finish your drink.”

At dinner that evening Dumbledore’s stare was heavier than usual, more intense. Suddenly, Tom was looking forward to the next morning’s Transfiguration class even less than usual. 

Arriving into a classroom where the desks and chairs had been pushed to the sides, only served to add to the weight of the foreboding in Tom’s stomach.

Dumbledore’s call from the front of the room for them to “Get into pairs, children,” Eyes twinkling madly all the while, “We’re going to be transfiguring our partner’s hair for a bit of fun.” - caused the hair along Tom’s forearms to stand on end as he exchanged suspicious glances with Orion. 

Dumbledore tracked the room as people split off into twos, hands raising, laughing - fake, fake, fake - ”No, no - in the spirit of house unity, let’s shake things up a bit, hmm? Partners from other houses only, please!”

Tom pairs up with Smith, a Gryffindor he’s never had much contact with. He was standing close enough to him and Tom was always interested in making new contacts. Out of Dumbledore’s ‘House Unity’, Tom let Smith go first.

That is the last time Tom would ever willingly be generous, he decides after Smith’s spell went wrong. Of course it did, Tom swore he was the only person his age who wasn’t a complete imbecile. He seethed under the patches of rippling fur that covered, disfigured, his face. 

Approaching the scene, strides quick and short, frame rippling with condensed anger - far more expressive than Tom’s, Dumbledore neared. He turned to Tom, looking down at him from his larger height, “What did you do?” 

Orion let out a bitter laugh, it was incredulous, “What did he do? He's the one whose face is wrongly transfigured, Professor. To the extent that he can’t answer you himself, may I add - which you can clearly see. You should be taking him to the hospital wing, not trying to put him into detention.” 

Orion and Tom would never be mistaken as brothers. They simply didn’t share enough of the same features, however, as Orion turned to Smith - the resemblance had never been so clear, “And Smith, you should hope that was an accident or our head of house will be seeing you soon… and I’ll be seeing you sooner.”  
Anger not yet spent, but having more important priorities, Orion stood next to Tom. He didn’t take his shoulder or anything similar that would show so much weakness. Instead, he simply gestured for the door and matched Tom’s stride as they made their way to the hospital wing.

After Tom had been treated by the medi-witch on duty, he lay in bed pale (an after effect of the potion and the mis-transfiguration), listening as Orion ranted. 

Pacing in front of Tom’s bed, Orion was wearing his path into the floor, “What is his issue? He's always been harsh to you, especially since you started the football club last year. But this? This is far even for him.” 

Tom barely lifted his head as he answered, somewhere in his chest it did sting, but he had resigned himself to Dumbledore’s opinion since their first transfiguration lesson and those eyes had settled on him far longer than all the others. 

Tom Riddle, supposed mud-blood in Slytherin - he found no sympathy in Dumbledore, only suspicion, “That is not for us to know, I suppose, Orion. It is not a matter of great importance, in the grand scheme of things, Dumbledore’s opinion means nothing. Sure he may be respected now, but he is only a teacher”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to know what you guys, gals and non-binary pals thought, your comments mean the world to me - thanks for reading :D
> 
> If you want to see Tom as an Instagram influencer, please feel free to check out ‘An Influencer with Influence’ on my profile!


	11. History of Magic Class, Hogwarts, 1943.

History of Magic was never one of Tom’s favourite classes. The classroom was in a chilly part of the castle and the windows never seemed to be in the path of the sun, no matter the time of day. The lesson was dull, quite frankly, and he learnt far quicker on his own and out of a textbook - unhindered by the stare of a ghost. Even after five years in the wizarding world, Tom did not think he would ever get used to having death so close to him. 

It was… uncomfortable, to say the least. 

As he was in most lessons, Tom was accompanied by Orion, Charles and Merida. The group had not planned on picking the same OWLS, yet all the same, for the most part they did. Charles sat to his right, Merida to his left and Orion at his back - all in stiff, wooden chairs that Charles had banned Tom from transfiguring more than once. 

Though Tom noticed he never commented when his girlfriend summoned a pillow from her dorm. 

The seating arrangement was the result of the first history class coinciding with the morning after a night spent with his curtains drawn and head immersed in a book until his alarm got him up for breakfast. Tom was not on top form that morning, and he had Orion throwing balled up rejected History essays at his head every other lesson to remind him of why such a thing could never happen again. 

A completely average history lesson turned memorable after one such essay hit the bend where his neck met his shoulder. Just as the crumpled ball fell, discarded to the floor, Binns announced (in his regular, dull and droll voice) that the day’s topic was “Merlin and Arthurian legend, so turn your textbooks to the corresponding chapter.”  
The twitch that passed through Tom’s body, starting with his left eye, was pushing what could be passed off as irritation at the miniature-missile that had hit his back. Still, to further save the reaction, Tom twisted in his chair and shot his signature stinging hex at Orion. 

Even if he was not truly irritated with Orion at that moment, the boy was the constant bane of his existence and had surely earned it throughout their knowing each other.

It seemed sitting in on a history lesson where your parents were the main topic was not as fun as one may imagine. Tom rolled his eyes often in that lesson. The experience was more irritating than amusing as there was a lot of knowing information was completely false, but not being able to explain how you knew. 

With Tom’s memory and reputation, ‘I read it somewhere, but the title escapes me’ can only be used so many times. Charlie shot him a confused glance at his frequent interruptions and Merida a knowing one (how did that girl seem to know everything that Tom explicitly aimed not to tell her?).

Yet there were only so many times, Tom’s impeccable patience or not, that one could hear their father was apparently raised in a cave before they had to interrupt. And really, his father being an old man whilst his dad was a child? Merlin was many odd things throughout his long lifespan, but he was never and would never, be a pedophile - thank you very much.

As the lesson ended and his year mates strolled out, few were actually surprised that it seemed Tom Riddle knew all about Arthurian legend as well as everything else - Tom turned and found his friends' unimpressed looks aimed at him. 

“It was an interest of mine in first year. The Christmas Holidays, if I must be specific”.

Orion placed a mock-caring hand on Tom’s forearm, “Tom, I love you - you know, I do. But I also mean this whole-heartedly, you are strange.” With that, he scooped his books into his bag - uncaring of ink spillages or ripped parchment and got up to head out of the room.

It satisfied Tom deeply to hear his exclaim as he bumped into the doorframe thanks to Tom’s, yet-again, silent hex.

Tom was, for the very first time, asked to accompany someone to Hogsmeade that evening. Whilst he was working in his spot in the common room, high-backed chair to the wall and surrounded by stacks of books of various natures and subjects, Parkinson approached him. 

She was nervous, he observed. Tom was not too surprised as few in his house approached completely without fear. So it was quite the shock when, instead of the request for OWL revision help he was expecting, Parkinson asked whether or not he would accompany her to Hogsmeade the next day.  
“A date,” she added, painfully chewing on her lip when he said nothing - a nervous habit. “I know there’s no way you’d ask anyone to go. Honestly I’m just surprised no one has asked you before now. So I thought I would, uh... to see if you were interested.”

When Tom considered it from an onlookers perspective, he supposed it was rather strange that no one had asked him. Though he suspected it was the air of disinterest he gave off, not that it was faked. Scrubbing cauldrons sounded just as appealing as a date to that frilly-pink place in Hogsmeade.

He supposed it would be rude, and have a negative effect on his standing if he said no to Parkinson’s face. So he sat there in contemplation for a second or two more, placing his quill and current reading material down. 

If he could convince her to make it a double date in three broomsticks with Charles and Merida, as sickening as their lovey-dovey expressions were, they knew Tom’s limits and would aim to make it bearable for him. He was sure, and so he presented his terms to Parkinson. 

With a wide, relieved smile - wringing her hands in front of her, she supplied in a short gasps of breath, “Okay. Great, well… see you at the gate!” and escaped up to her dormitory. 

Walking with Parkinson, Merida and Charles (who had agreed to accompany him) a few paces ahead, her palm in his own - was an odd sensation. He could find nothing too pleasant about it, in fact, her hand was rather sweaty.

They walked about the few shops collected in the village as every student did, looking for new stock and refilling their tried and tested favourites. Tom himself had a leaning towards blood pops and chocolate frogs (after his phase when he was ten and trying to get his father on a card, only to be disappointed it showed a random old man and not his father at all). 

Their conversation was nothing too deep, nothing groundbreaking - but making conversation was something Tom had trained in for nearly a decade. He was more than proficient in it. 

Finally reaching the Three Broomsticks, the group of four - because Tom refused to acknowledge himself as a part of two couples - got a little booth, in the far right corner. Not so far from where they would normally sit if Orion was accompanying them and not Parkinson. 

Whilst they were eating, Tom found he could genuinely say he enjoyed the conversation that flowed between the four. Parkinson had a good dynamic that bounced off of Tom and his friends well. 

Every so often Merida would kick Tom’s shin or send him a particularly harsh glare, and he would straighten slightly and realise he had not directed any of his words to Parkinson in quite some time.

He knew it was the etiquette of a date to ask the other about themselves so he did, but when she opened her mouth to respond it was repeatedly a resounding monologue of ‘dull, dull, dull’. Well, at least it was to Tom’s ears. 

Merida and Charles nodded along and laughed in the right places, so perhaps they were even listening. Tom couldn’t find it within himself to feel too badly.

At the end of the lunch, when the candle on their table was dimming and their plates had been taken away, Charles and Merida slipped away with the excuse that ‘they really needed to pop into one more shop’. 

Waiting for Parkinson to slip on her coat before they had to face the harsh Scottish winter seemed the decent thing to Tom, yet his companion seemed to take it as a sign of interest. Foot barely past the threshold of the pub, Tom was pushed up against the establishment’s brick wall - it leaked an unpleasant chill through his coat.

Pansy pressed her lips to his. 

Later that evening, hanging upside down from his bed opposite Tom’s in the dormitory, tie loose and past his long hair, shirt untucked - Orion whined to him. His voice sounded odd with all the blood rushing to his head, “C’mon Tom, you have to tell me more about this date with Parkinson - was she a good kisser?” 

Tom, from his place lying back on his sheets with his eyes closed in avoidance of the world, fingers deftly stroking over Nagini’s scales, was tempted to scrub his lips again at the awful memory. He couldn't say Parkinson was a bad kisser, not that he had much - any - experience to go off of. 

She didn't drool, didn’t bite him and didn’t have bad breath. In fact if Tom had to judge, he would guess she was an experienced kisser. Yet, all he could think about whilst her lips were pressing against his was the fact they were exchanging very many germs and the whole thing felt rather bland… not quite violating, but almost. 

He had just wanted her away. He didn’t understand it.

She was pretty. Her dark, straight hair was aesthetically pleasing and offset her tanned skin nicely. Her lips were on the thin side but they were pink and more often not matched the blush Tom’s presence brought to her cheeks. 

Still, Tom did not feel a thing. 

Well… no positive thing, anyways. Tom couldn’t help but ponder his thoughts aloud. “Orion, do you think I could be gay?” Silence answered his question, until a loud chortle followed by a crash met his ears. 

Nagini hissed from his lap, head tilting to the noise. 

Tom sat up and saw Orion in a collapsed heap on the floor, laughing himself red and until tears leaked out of his eyes. “Please, Tom. You have me as a best friend - I’m gorgeous. If you were attracted to men, you’d know it around me.” 

Arrogant idiot. He earned the hex Tom sent his way, luckily he was already on the floor because the force in this one would’ve sent him there if he wasn’t.

Although, Tom supposed he did have a point. If there was one thing Tom was not, it was stupid. He had seen the way the girls of Hogwarts looked at Orion, the way over half of the boys looked at him too - and the way he winked at all of them back - but Tom had never seen him that way, not once. 

And he didn’t think it was because he had seen Orion throwing up after one too many fire whiskeys or that he had been there when the first whiskers of facial hair had sprung up on his face and made him look rather rat-like until Tom snapped and cursed it off.  
Tom realised sitting at the edge of his bed, Orion staring at him from the floor, he had no desire to kiss or touch, or do any of the other things he knew people his age delighted in doing, to the opposite or same sex.

Confident by nature though he was, something in Tom was still a little afraid when he voiced his identity into the world, grip tightening on Nagini slightly, “Orion, I don’t think I like anyone - in that way, I mean.”

Orion smiled, it held no amusement, just fondness. Then he said, “Honestly, Tom. I don’t think you’d be you if you did.” 

And that was that, one more fact shared between brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important A/N: I thought you guys deserve an update with where this story is going. We have one more chapter which will wrap this up which should be posted sometime this month, BUT - that will wrap up Version 1 of this story.   
>  Throughout the writing process, characters have taken on a life I didn't expect - this was a originally meant to be a series of one shots that would show Tom's life with Arthur and Merlin - how would you guys feel about this taking on a longer, more novel-like style?  
>  Really need your feedback on whether you'd want me to upload version two as a second work on this account, or turn V1 into one long chapter that would be at the beginning of V2, and just keep adding to this? 
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments, about this idea and the chapter itself. Thanks for all the love and support for this story x


	12. History of Magic Class, Hogwarts, 1943.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year! :D

History of Magic was never one of Tom’s favourite classes. The classroom was in a chilly part of the castle and the windows never seemed to be in the path of the sun, no matter the time of day. The lesson was dull, quite frankly, and he learnt far quicker on his own and out of a textbook - unhindered by the stare of a ghost. Even after five years in the wizarding world, Tom did not think he would ever get used to having death so close to him. 

It was… uncomfortable, to say the least. 

As he was in most lessons, Tom was accompanied by Orion, Charles and Merida. The group had not planned on picking the same OWLS, yet all the same, for the most part, they did. Charles sat to his right, Merida to his left and Orion at his back - all in stiff, wooden chairs that Charles had banned Tom from transfiguring more than once. 

Though Tom noticed he never commented when his girlfriend summoned a pillow from her dorm. 

The seating arrangement was the result of the first history class coinciding with the morning after a night spent with his curtains drawn and head immersed in a book until his alarm got him up for breakfast. Tom was not on top form that morning, and he had Orion throwing balled-up rejected History essays at his head every other lesson to remind him of why such a thing could never happen again. 

A completely average history lesson turned memorable after one such essay hit the bend where his neck met his shoulder. Just as the crumpled ball fell, discarded to the floor, Binns announced (in his regular, dull and droll voice) that the day’s topic was “Merlin and Arthurian legend, so turn your textbooks to the corresponding chapter.”  
The twitch that passed through Tom’s body, starting with his left eye, was pushing what could be passed off as irritation at the miniature-missile that had hit his back. Still, to further save the reaction, Tom twisted in his chair and shot his signature stinging hex at Orion. 

Even if he was not truly irritated with Orion at that moment, the boy was the constant bane of his existence and had surely earned it throughout their knowing each other.

It seemed sitting in on a history lesson where your parents were the main topic was not as fun as one may imagine. Tom rolled his eyes often in that lesson. The experience was more irritating than amusing as there was a lot of knowing the information was completely false, but not being able to explain how you knew. 

With Tom’s memory and reputation, ‘I read it somewhere, but the title escapes me’ can only be used so many times. Charlie shot him a confused glance at his frequent interruptions and Merida a knowing one (how did that girl seem to know everything that Tom explicitly aimed not to tell her?).

Yet there were only so many times, Tom’s impeccable patience or not, that one could hear their father was apparently raised in a cave before they had to interrupt. And really, his father being an old man whilst his dad was a child? Merlin was many odd things throughout his long lifespan, but he was never and would never be, a paedophile - thank you very much.

As the lesson ended and his year mates strolled out, few were actually surprised that it seemed Tom Riddle knew all about Arthurian legend as well as everything else - Tom turned and found his friends' unimpressed looks aimed at him. 

“It was an interest of mine in first year. The Christmas Holidays, if I must be specific”.

Orion placed a mock-caring hand on Tom’s forearm, “Tom, I love you - you know, I do. But I also mean this whole-heartedly, you are strange.” With that, he scooped his books into his bag - uncaring of ink spillages or ripped parchment and got up to head out of the room.

It satisfied Tom deeply to hear his exclaim as he bumped into the doorframe thanks to Tom’s, yet-again, silent hex.

Tom was, for the very first time, asked to accompany someone to Hogsmeade that evening. Whilst he was working in his spot in the common room, high-backed chair to the wall and surrounded by stacks of books of various natures and subjects, Parkinson approached him. 

She was nervous, he observed. Tom was not too surprised as few in his house approached completely without fear. So it was quite the shock when, instead of the request for OWL revision help he was expecting, Parkinson asked whether or not he would accompany her to Hogsmeade the next day.

“A date,” she added, painfully chewing on her lip when he said nothing - a nervous habit. “I know there’s no way you’d ask anyone to go. Honestly, I’m just surprised no one has asked you before now. So I thought I would, uh... to see if you were interested.”

When Tom considered it from an onlookers perspective, he supposed it was rather strange that no one had asked him. Though he suspected it was the air of disinterest he gave off, not that it was faked. Scrubbing cauldrons sounded just as appealing as a date to that frilly-pink place in Hogsmeade.

He supposed it would be rude and harm his standing if he said no to Parkinson’s face. So he sat there in contemplation for a second or two more, placing his quill and current reading material down. 

He could convince her to make it a double date in three broomsticks with Charles and Merida, as sickening as their lovey-dovey expressions were, they knew Tom’s limits and would aim to make it bearable for him. He was sure, and so he presented his terms to Parkinson. 

With a wide, relieved smile - wringing her hands in front of her, she supplied in short gasps of breath, “Okay. Great, well… see you at the gate!” and escaped up to her dormitory. 

Walking with Parkinson, Merida and Charles (who had, indeed, agreed to accompany him) a few paces ahead, her palm in his own - was an odd sensation. He could find nothing too pleasant about it, in fact, her hand was rather sweaty.

They walked about the few shops collected in the village as every student did, looking for new stock and refilling tried and tested favourites. Tom himself had a leaning towards blood pops and chocolate frogs (after his phase when he was ten and trying to get his father on a card, only to be disappointed it showed a random old man and not his father at all). 

Their conversation was nothing too deep, nothing groundbreaking - but making conversation was something Tom had trained in for nearly a decade. He was more than proficient in it. 

Finally reaching the Three Broomsticks, the group of four - because Tom refused to acknowledge himself as a part of two couples - got a little booth, in the far right corner. Not so far from where they would normally sit if Orion was accompanying them and not Parkinson. 

Whilst they were eating, Tom found he could genuinely say he enjoyed the conversation that flowed between the four. Parkinson had a good dynamic that bounced off of Tom and his friends well. 

Every so often Merida would kick Tom’s shin or send him a particularly harsh glare, and he would straighten slightly and realise he had not directed any of his words to Parkinson in quite some time.

He knew it was the etiquette of a date to ask the other about themselves so he did, but when she opened her mouth to respond it was repeatedly a resounding monologue of ‘dull, dull, dull’. Well, at least it was to Tom’s ears. 

Merida and Charles nodded along and laughed in the right places, so perhaps they were even listening. Tom couldn’t find it within himself to feel too badly.

At the end of the lunch, when the candle on their table was dimming and their plates had been taken away, Charles and Merida slipped away with the excuse that ‘they really needed to pop into one more shop’. 

Waiting for Parkinson to slip on her coat before they had to face the harsh Scottish winter seemed the decent thing to Tom, yet his companion seemed to take it as a sign of interest. Foot barely past the threshold of the pub, Tom was pushed up against the establishment’s brick wall - it leaked an unpleasant chill through his coat.

Pansy pressed her lips to his. 

Later that evening, hanging upside down from his bed opposite Tom’s in the dormitory, tie loose and past his long hair, shirt untucked - Orion whined to him. His voice sounded odd with all the blood rushing to his head, “C’mon Tom, you have to tell me more about this date with Parkinson - was she a good kisser?” 

Tom, from his place lying back on his sheets with eyes closed in avoidance of the world, fingers deftly stroking over Nagini’s scales, was tempted to scrub his lips again at the awful memory. He couldn't say Parkinson was a bad kisser, not that he had much - any - experience to go off of. 

She didn't drool, didn’t bite him and didn’t have bad breath. In fact, if Tom had to judge, he would guess she was an experienced kisser. Yet, all he could think about whilst her lips were pressing against his was the fact they were exchanging very many germs and the whole thing felt rather bland… not quite violating, but almost. 

He had just wanted her away. He didn’t understand it.

She was pretty. Her dark, straight hair was aesthetically pleasing and offset her tanned skin nicely. Her lips were on the thin side but they were pink and more often not matched the blush Tom’s presence brought to her cheeks. 

Still, Tom did not feel a thing. 

Well… no positive thing, anyways. Tom couldn’t help but ponder his thoughts aloud. “Orion, do you think I could be gay?” Silence answered his question until a loud chortle followed by a crash met his ears. 

Nagini hissed from his lap, head tilting to the noise. 

Tom sat up and saw Orion in a collapsed heap on the floor, laughing himself red and until tears leaked out of his eyes. “Please, Tom. You have me as a best friend - I’m gorgeous. If you were attracted to men, you’d know it around me.” 

Arrogant idiot. He earned the hex Tom sent his way, luckily he was already on the floor because the force in this one would’ve sent him there if he wasn’t.

Although Tom supposed he did have a point. If there was one thing Tom was not, it was stupid. He had seen the way the girls of Hogwarts looked at Orion, the way over half of the boys looked at him too - and the way he winked at all of them back - but Tom had never seen him that way, not once. 

And he didn’t think it was because he had seen Orion throwing up after one too many fire whiskeys or that he had been there when the first whiskers of facial hair had sprung upon his face and made him look rather rat-like until Tom snapped and cursed it off.

Tom realised sitting at the edge of his bed, Orion staring at him from the floor, he had no desire to kiss or touch, or do any of the other things he knew people his age delighted in doing, to the opposite or same-sex.

Confident by nature though he was, something in Tom was still a little afraid when he voiced his identity into the world, grip tightening on Nagini slightly, “Orion, I don’t think I like anyone - in that way, I mean.”

Orion smiled, it held no amusement, just fondness. Then he said, “Honestly, Tom. I don’t think you’d be you if you did.” 

And that was that, one more fact shared between brothers. 

Hogwarts, Scotland, 1945.

Hogwarts in the evening was a dark, mysterious place. The joy of children over the centuries stopped the shadows before they snuck into the territory of being eerie or sombre, but there was still something more sitting in the air once the sun sank beneath the Scottish hills.

Footsteps carried on the chilled breeze, which was icey, whether it was December or August. One such set of footsteps were those of Professor Dumbledore, echoing against stone in purposeful yet light taps, in a corridor just past the trophy room.

With a face in the midst of youth and old age, cast in an ombre of blues and greys (a consequence of the torches flickering and spluttering), he tucked himself closer to the wall and peered into an open archway. 

The room - holding a roaring fireplace, walls lined with bookshelves and a heavy, circular-table - sat none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle and his group. 

Blue eyes strained in their curiosity to observe, to see. Dumbledore had his suspicions of the Riddle boy since his first year. The boy was no more than a half-blood, may even be a muggleborn, yet he walked into the entrance with eyes too knowing and posture too relaxed.

He got that impression of Tom, still. Back to the fire, but with a face twisted by the strength of his words, Tom seemed to transcend the small space. The fact there were only three sat in front of him, eyes bright as if his words were gospel, attention so utterly captured - seemed irrelevant.

So clearly could Dumbledore see a future where there weren’t just three laying themselves at his feet. He was reminded of another charismatic man, one who brought pain and grief into his mind, he could see hundreds… thousands.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had influence beyond what was natural. He had to be stopped. 

If anyone who had been in the room could’ve seen the judgements being made, they would’ve laughed until they cried. They were seated around a table which valued every person as equal, in a room they valued as their safe space, a place to be themselves. 

That night the room and group rose in support of their friend, their brother - Orion. Some evenings, when the cutlery of the dining hall scraped and clinked too loudly, and the common room underground felt too much like a tomb, Orion felt overwhelmed. 

He felt like he was back there, with them. On the darkest nights, it felt like the early days when he had no Tom’s house or a second family to run to. So he needed his friends, he needed their round table and he needed Tom.   
He needed Tom to remind him that he would never have to walk into that house, that grimy, God-forsaken house, in a position of weakness ever again. He was strong and that the Black legacy was not a prophecy of his future.

When Tom spoke, Orion was helpless but to listen, “Orion, those people - they do not get the privilege of being called family. You are my family. You are my brother and you are a son to my parents. You are not family to them, never them.”

He felt three sets of hands fall as a joined weight on top of his. Warm, constant and protective. Orion had a family. It was one he was pretty damn proud of.

Tom Riddle was not evil. He couldn’t be with the way he brought Charlie rare plants and plaited Merida’s hair before games, or let Orion hang off of him like a coat. 

Tom Riddle was protective, or so he claimed. Others would argue his friendships fell under another name, one far more sinister - possessions. The rumours formed when some disgusting filth, disguising themselves as 7th year Gryffindor wizards, cornered Merida.

It was the 7th floor. It froze any wanderers down to their bones on Summer evenings, with a ripped and torn robe, it could’ve been deadly. Merida’s blatant rebellion against pureblooded society was one of her features that endeared her the most to him. The scum that attacked her disagreed, left her there to die because she wouldn’t conform. 

When Tom found her, Nagini darted ahead and tried to give warmth to one of the nest mates, his magic sang for blood. Kneeling to the side of Merida and laying his robe over her, gentle in all his movements, he entered her mind.

Her memories of the event were a mess, even to someone accustomed to muddling through the human mind like Tom. They came in flashes; short, intense, graphic flashes that made Tom want to stab the faces he saw appearing. 

Scooping her up and into his arms, Tom carried her to the hospital wing. He barely felt her weight, whether it was the adrenaline or his magic’s assistance, he didn’t know. Placing her on the nearest cot, his voice nearly caught in his throat as he addressed the Medi-Witch who was a flurry of movement.

“I found her like that on the seventh floor. We were all so worried when we didn’t see her after dinner; so I went looking. She’s freezing. Please, I don’t know what happened. Help her.”

He was pushed out of the hospital wing and only once he passed the threshold and knew Merida was in good hands, did he let a truly sadistic expression fill his face. 

Tom was going to make some people wish they had never touched Merida. He was going to make them wish they were dead.

In the morning, when three Gryffindor seventh years were transported to the hospital wings, the Medi-Witch was contract bound to report her suspicions. But the part of her that cried for the wounds she had to treat on Merida’s body, smiled when she saw the scan results for more broken than whole bones and more blood painting the hallway than what remained in the culprit’s bodies. 

They would live. It was her healer’s oath, but if the stock of pain potion was more limited for their treatment, then there was nothing one could do about that.

Dumbledore’s office was nothing more than an expanded store-cupboard off the side of the transfiguration classroom. The only source of light was an enchanted window showing the edges of the forest and a flickering candle sat on the desk. Even so, dust particles were visible, swirling and shifting in the tense air between the two inhabitants of the office. 

Dumbledore was an imposing figure, looking less like the bumbling-fool who wore charmed snitch robes and more like the powerful wizard he was. Stood behind his desk he stared down at the young student, a forlorn look masking the suspicion behind his spectacles. 

“You’re someone with muggle lineage in Slytherin; I understand it’d be hard, Tom. Being eleven and in an environment with people who didn’t respect you, care for you - but you didn’t have to turn to the Dark Arts.” His voice, probably meant to be a soft, regretful tone, only came off as condescending to the receiving ears.

In his seated position, a wooden chair that he would otherwise refuse to sit (in any other situation), Tom seethed. “You have never, not once, offered me any sort of help to adjust to being ‘someone with muggle lineage in Slytherin’, Professor.”

Tom sat forward in his chair, a fast motion but tightly restrained, arms clutching the rests, “It forces me to ask what that means to you, Sir - someone with muggle lineage? You and your Gryffindors preach your acceptance, but you are always the last to accept changes to your ‘perfect’ mold.” 

He almost spat the descriptor out, the situation with Merida’s attackers too fresh in his mind. He would never be so brash with a teacher, but there had always been something about Dumbledore, something that made Tom feel his best efforts wouldn’t have been appreciated either way.

The Professor, thrown both in thought and from his position of interrogator, spluttered on the defensive, “My apologies, Tom. It is the duty of your housemaster to make the transition into the house as painless as possible, not my own - and any shortcomings you may think of me, does not excuse your turning down a dark path…”

He sighed, sounding disappointed that the world did not bend to his whims, “The dark arts are an evil magic; one I fear you are coming to harness, only too well.” Dumbledore’s body relaxed in its position leaning against the desk, hands with hints of aging folding in front of him. 

Tom wanted to scoff, but he refrained, standing from the chair and straightening his uniform whilst responding, “The Dark Arts are simply a branch of magic. It is extremely closed minded of you to profess me evil simply for researching them. Now if you will excuse me, you cannot prove I had anything to do with those boys in the hospital wing and I have friends to care for.”

Sat around Merida’s bed, Charlie clutching her hand like a lifeline, Tom and Orion spoke. 

“I can’t believe Dumbledore actually tried to pin this on you. Dark magic? Fine, you’re a scholar of all things. Evil? I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life.” 

The anger in his voice slowly shifted to amusement, “Well unless, little nine year old Tommy and his dark lord phase was more prophetic than we could’ve imagined.”

In the hospital wing as they were, Tom didn’t want any stray magic affecting Merida’s recovery, so he stopped himself from cursing Orion. It was a close thing, however, and Tom silently praised himself on his patience, glaring all the while. “Yes. Thank you, Orion. Dumbledore is largely an idiot though, and there’s little he can actually do, outside of Hogwarts.” 

Orion quietly thought there was little he could do, even within the castle. The school knew Tom. He wasn’t evil. He ran the football team, helped the younger years with their homework and cared so deeply for those he treasured. His family, the boy who was so close to being his brother, wasn’t evil.

A nervous grin on his face, Orion avoided Tom’s eyes, “Uh… speaking of outside of the castle. I may or may not have gotten in touch with your parents, letting them know about Merida’s situation and Dumbledore’s attempts to blame you.”

Tom wanted to scream, but stifled it into a groan instead. His parents. Great. 

The hospital wing doors chose that moment to swing open, hitting the stone on either side with a bang, startling all but the potion-induced sleeping patients. 

His dad didn’t have a sword, thank the gods, but he looked like a vengeful weapon either way. His father was only half a stride behind, anger quieter but no less potent. He remained at the door, like a guard at the entrance. Arthur approached with fury lining his face, eyes softening slightly as they landed on Tom’s worn form by the bed. 

He glanced at Merida, “Is she going to be okay?”

At Tom’s nod, Arthur’s body crumpled inwards and he swept his son into his arms for a long overdue hug. “Dumbledore’s a fool. Your father’s always said so; he reminds him too much of a certain meddling dragon.”

With his dad’s words, Tom looked past his shoulder to his father. A warmth settled inside him, a magic fondness that always filled him in Merlin’s presence. Loosening the embrace, but being sure not to run, he headed to him. 

His father’s lanky limbs wrapped around him made him feel safe, like he was being taken away from the God-awful orphanage once more. 

The feeling tripled when his father uttered, low and serious, “Just say the words and he’ll pay, Tom.” His eyes flickered over to the screen on the other side of the wing, as if he could see the four cots housing broken boys beyond, “They’ll all pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you guys that the final chapter would be up before 2021 and I fought very aggressively against one of the most extreme cases of writer's block I've ever had. I'm not going to lie and say I'm 100% pleased with this ending, but it's the ending in this form. 
> 
> Like I've mentioned in previous author's notes, I do have plans to write a Version 2 of this story - originally this was meant to be a series of one shots showings Tom's life with a family, but along a way it developed a plot. Trying to keep to this one shot has prevented this from being all it can be and so V2 will be a more traditional story media.
> 
> so,, please subscribe to this story so you'll get the notification chapter for when the second version is up - thank you for the tremendous support you've all shown this story, it means the world to me x


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